jg^^^^^^raMnVJi-^^WMJggg^ 


yjv»v-y-'— ■  ••>«i^ji>_v.'2 


it^'^^ii 


..'at^.-rf 


TN£  PUDDOCK 


c^-^'-^^^J^ 


Cyt^'f-^t--ey'z.y^t^^--T'     /  f  3 


/ 


SIB  PATRICK:    THE  PUDDOCK 


SIR  PATRICK:  THE  PUDDOCK 


BY 

L.   B.   WALFOED 

AUTHOR  Ol'   "  LIB.   billTH,"   "  THE  BABY'b  GIlANDilOTHEB,  "   •'  THE 
AllCHDEACOX,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW   YORK 

LONGMANS,    GKEEN    &    CO. 

1899 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  "  I    HATE    UGLY    MEN  "            ....  1 

II.  PLAYFUL    SELINA 20 

III.  "it's  a  damned  lie"        ....  44 

IV.  hobson's  choice           ....  76 

V.  "  SOPHY — MY   NIECE,    MISS    HAEBOROUGH  "  .  107 

VI.  A   MEETING   IN    THE   WILDS       .            .            .  131 

VII.  A   WHITE    PARASOL 154 

VIII.  '  BOBBY  '    APPEARS    UPON    THE    SCENE        .  185 
IX.  "WHAT    TIME    IS   YOUR   BOAT    DUE?"               .  211 

X.  "DID    HE    SAY   IT    WAS    IMPUDENT?"          .  239 

XI.  A    BOLT    FROM    THE    BLUE       ....  258 

XII.  CONCLUSION 282 


CHAPTER   I 

"I  HATE   UGLY  MEN" 

"  T  DON'T  care  if  he  is  '  Sir  Patrick  '—or  '  Lord 
Patrick  '  or  '  Duke  Patrick.'  He's  just 
'The  Puddock,'  and  every  one  calls  him  so.  I 
hate  ugly  men." 

Mrs.  Jonathan  Mercer  looked  at  her  young 
visitor.     "You  do?"  said  she,  drily. 

"  I  do.     Of  course  I  do.     Every  one  does." 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  still  more  drily. 
She  would  have  liked  to  shake  the  girl.  As  any 
one  would.  It  is  almost  certain  that  any  twelve 
impartial  jurymen  adjudicating  upon  the  scene, 
would  have  given  it  as  their  unanimous  verdict 
that  Miss  Sophia  Gill  deserved  a  shaking,  if 
nothing  more. 

She  to  hate  ugly  men  !  There  was  something 
pathetically  ludicrous   in  the  idea,  if  there  had 

2 


2  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

not  been  something  else,— but  to  tell  the  truth, 
this  something  else  stood  between  the  older  lady 
and  any  sense  of  humour :  her  kindly  nature  was 
as  much  roused  to  ire  as  it  was  possible  for  it 
to  be. 

"  Ton  my  word  !  "  cried  she,  to  herself.  Then 
with  deepened  emphasis  :  "  'Poji  my  word  !  " 

If  only  she  could  have  spoken  out, — but  how  is 
it  possible  to  tell  a  young  girl  to  her  face  that 
it  ill  becomes  her  to  set  such  store  by  personal 
appearance,  when  ever  so  slight  an  accentuation 
of  the  pronoun  conveys  an  intimation  not  to 
be  misinterpreted  ?  She  could  not  do  it ;  of 
course  she  could  not  do  it :  both  as  friend, 
hostess,  and  a  human  fellow-creature  her  tongue 
was  tied,  though  flushed  cheeks  and  compressed 
lips  betrayed  fast  and  furious  utterances  within. 

"  Hates  ugly  men,  does  she?  And  what  if  they 
return  the  compliment  ?  Two  can  play  at  that 
game.  .  .  .  Ugly  men?  What  about  ugly  women? 
And  I  that  thought  poor  plain  Sophy  Gill  would 
be  thankful  of  anybody,  and  was  ready  to  jump 
out  of  my  skin  when  it  seemed  as  if  Sir  Patrick 
were  going  to  take  to  her !  Little  did  I  dream — 
I  thought  it  would  be  only  kind  to  give  her  the 
hint.     Hates  ugly  men  ?     And  pray  who  is  she 


"I  HATE    UGLY   MEN"  3 

to  pick  and  choose?  I  suppose  she  thinks  she 
has  the  world  at  her  feet ! ' ' — drumming  with 
heavily-ringed  fingers  on  the  table. 

She  was  by  far  the  more  excited  of  the  two. 
Indeed,  after  the  first  outbreak,  delivered  more 
pettishly  than  passionately,  Miss  Sophy  cooled 
down ;  and  remembering  something  she  had  to 
do  upstairs,  presently  left  the  room  without  any 
attempt  to  renew  the  conversation. 

Mrs.  Mercer's  eyes  followed  her,  and  now  her 
lips  were  partially  unsealed;  so  that  though  she 
did  not  actually  speak  aloud,  her  wrathful  rumina- 
tions found  vent  in  broken  murmurs  and  ejacu- 
lations. 

"  There  she  goes  !  A  bounce  and  a  bang.  No 
style,  no  figure.  Can't  even  walk  well.  Lolls 
at  the  dinner  table.  Crosses  her  legs  whenever 
she  gets  the  chance.  I've  had  to  speak  to  her 
about  all  these  things  ;  and  poor  girl,"  relenting 
somewhat,  "  she  has  tried  to  do  better.  And 
she  did  take  it  well ;  I  must  say  that  for  her. 
She  was  improving  every  day.  But  who  would 
ever  have  dreamed  of  her  not  seeing  that  at  the 
best  she's  only  a  bouncing,  good-natured  girl? 
And  men  don't  marry  as  they  used  to  do.  And 
even   if    they   are   on   the   look-out   for   a   wife, 


4  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Sophy  has  nothing  to — she's  not  likely  to  be 
picked  out.     Hates  ugly  men,  indeed  !  " 

It  was  an  unfortunate  phrase ;  one  more  un- 
fortunate could  hardly  have  been  selected.  Mrs. 
Mercer  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  youth,  and 
swains  by  the  score  had  sighed  at  her  feet ;  but 
she  felt  that  she  would  never  have  given  utterance 
to  such  an  assertion,  even  before  she  accepted 
honest  Jonathan,  whom  perhaps  she  might  not 
have  thought  about  had  he  not  been  what  he 
was,  but  with  whom  she  had  lived  very  happily 
for  well  nigh  fifty  years. 

"  If  I  could  do  it !  "  thought  she  now,  drawing 
up  her  long  neck ;  "  and  a  better  husband  no 
woman  ever  had.  Miss  Sophy  Gill  would  have 
turned  up  her  nose  at  him,  I  daresay ;  "  again 
a  lambent  flame  lit  up  the  fine  old  eyes,  and 
they  wandered  involuntarily  towards  an  opposite 
mirror,  fastening  their  gaze  slowly  and  piercingly 
upon  themselves.  Their  owner  was  thinking  of 
a  pair  of  colourless  orbs,  full,  and  slightly  pro- 
truding :  "  the  Gill  eyes,"  she  was  wont  to  call 
them. 

"  Whom  does  she  expect  to  get,  I  wonder  ?  " 

A  pause,  and  then :  "I  wonder  if  it  was  a 
mistake  to  bring  Sophy?"  cogitated  her  patroness, 


"I   HATE   UGLY   MEN"  5 

slowing  down  as  it  were.  "If  it  has  put  ideas 
into  her  head,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself.  She 
seemed  humble  enough,  and  modest  enough, 
when  she  first  came.  This  big  place,  and  our 
treating  her  just  as  if  she  were  our  own  daughter, 
may  have  turned  her  head?  And  yet  I  can't 
say  I  should  have  thought  so.  Even  people  who 
asked  about  her,  and  saw  her  settled  here  as  if 
it  were  her  home — as  it  is,  for  the  time — all 
thought  it  a  good  idea.  Comfortable  for  us,  and 
a  great  thing  for  Sophy.  She  has  been  as  useful, 
and  handy,  and  obliging  as  possible.  Always 
cheerful  and  pleasant,  too.  Always  ready  to  do 
whatever  was  wanted ;  never  a  sour  look  have 
I  had  till  to-day.  Even  to-day  she  only  said 
what  was  in  her  mind,  I  suppose.  She  did  not 
say  it  to  annoy  me.  But,  mercy  on  us,  that  it 
should  have  been  in  her  mind  !  That's  what  I 
can't  get  over.  The — the  impudence  of  it.  Poor 
Sophy  !  " 

Poor  Sophy  !  The  deep-seated,  ingrained  con- 
tempt of  the  last  words  would  have  pierced  the 
thickest  skin ;  and  with  all  her  benevolence,  and 
all  her  indulgence,  it  expressed  to  a  hair's  breadth 
the  real  state  of  Mrs.  Mercer's  feelings  towards 
her  yonng  protegee. 


6  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

She  would  do  everything  for  the  girl — but  she 
thought  nothing  of  her.  She  had  the  utmost 
goodwill,  it  was  almost  tantamount  to  affection 
for  "  the  poor  thing," — but  she  never  saw  Sophy 
in  a  new  hat  or  frock,  never  heard  her  strumming 
on  the  piano,  nor  witnessed  her  attempts  at 
dancing  a  reel  without  mentally  ejaculating  '  The 
poor  thing !  ' 

Sophy,  au  natural,  would  indeed  pass  muster 
without  remark.  Mrs.  Mercer,  to  do  her  justice, 
was  never  on  the  lookout  for  shortcomings ;  but 
it  was  when,  with  the  spirits  of  youth,  the  big, 
floundering  girl  threw  herself  into  whatever  was 
going  on,  and  rollicked  unconscious  of  any  be- 
littling eyes,  that  the  old  lady  would  mutter  to 
herself. 

And  she  had  been  wont  to  think  it  rather 
touching  and  very  nice  of  Sophy  to  be  so  un- 
conscious. "She  is  just  as  happy  as  if  she  were 
the  greatest  beauty  of  the  land,"  she  would  say; 
taking  it  for  granted  that  it  was  not  ignorance 
of  but  submission  to  recognised  inferiority  which 
induced  the  happiness. 

"  Well,  well,  well  !  " 

We  must  now  leave  the  perplexed,  and  dis- 
appointed,  not   to    say   disgusted,   dame   to   her 


"I  HATE   UGLY   MEN"  7 

musings,  and  go  back  a  few  weeks,  in  order  that 
our  readers  may  understand  the  situation. 

Mr.  Jonathan  Mercer  was  perhaps  not  quite 
a  millionaire,  but  he  was  generally  thought  and 
called  one.  He  was  at  all  events  a  very  rich 
man,  and  could  afford  to  live  anywhere  and 
everywhere  on  a  very  large  scale. 

For  some  years  past  he  had  been  building  a 
palace  in  the  West  Highlands  of  Scotland,  and 
it  had  only  been  completed  a  few  months  before 
our  story  opens.  Previous  to  that  he  had  rented 
houses  with  moors  attached,  during  the  months 
when  moors  are  in  fashion.  Such  at  least  was 
the  remark  of  one  derisive  sportsman,  who  would 
have  preferred,  naturally,  his  host's  renting  moors 
with  house,  hut,  or  any  sort  of  roofed  habitation 
thrown  in. 

This,  however,  would  not  have  suited  our 
friend.  He  liked  comfort,  as  did  his  wife.  The 
couple  were  childless,  and  found  resource  in 
luxurious  surroundings,  which  had  become 
through  long  experience  a  necessity.  Accord- 
ingly they  had  "  gone  in  for  big  houses,  and 
let  the  moor  rip  "  —  according  to  Jack  Marks- 
man. 

And  still  the  big  houses  were  not  what  they 


8  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

should  have  been  ;  they  were  inconvenient,  ill- 
lighted,  even  dilapidated — as  houses  rented  by 
millionaires  are  sure  to  be.  The  billiard -room 
would  be  shockingly  small ;  the  smoking-room 
draughty ;  the  servants'  hall  a  constant  bone  of 
contention.  "  We  don't  mind,  it's  the  poor 
servants  ;  "  Mrs.  Mercer  would  continually  affirm, 
being  a  slave,  of  course,  to  her  fat  butler  and 
dyspeptic  housekeeper. 

And  there  was  always  the  worry  of  being  at 
a  distance  from  butcher  and  grocer,  and  the 
endless  sending  to  and  fro  when  trains  and 
steamboats  had  to  be  met.  "  One  would  think 
they  tried  to  fmd  the  furthest  place  they  could 
from  anything  and  anybody,  and  then  build  upon 
it !  " — cried  the  poor  distracted  woman  at  last, 
while  Jonathan  nodded  assent. 

The  post  was  his  grievance.  He  could  never 
get  a  second  post  without  sending  for  it ;  often 
he  could  not  get  it  at  all. 

And  at  length  they  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  the  thought  arose :  Why  not  build  for 
themselves  ? 

"And  then  we  can  make  it  comfortable, 
Jonathan." 

"It   can   at    least    be    water-tight,"    said    he. 


"I   HATE    UGLY   MEN"  9 

There  had  been  a  drip  in  the  passage  at  his 
last  place. 

"  Do  let  us  be  near  the  village,  Jonathan." 

"  Aye,  aye  !  and  the  post-office." 

"  And  the  church." 

"And  the  station.  But  no,"  said  Jonathan, 
suddenly,  "  we'll  not  bother  about  stations.  We'll 
build  by  the  water  side,  and  have  our  own  yacht 
— a  steam  yacht — and  go  and  come  when  we 
hke." 

In  a  single  afternoon  the  two  had  planned  it 
all,  and  only  wondered  what  they  had  been  about 
not  to  have  done  so  before.  To  think  that  they 
had  put  up  with  so  much,  and  for  so  long!— but 
now,  Losca  Castle  was  the  result. 

Losca  Castle  on  Glen  Losca  bay,  in  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  Hebridean  islands,  was 
in  its  way  a  great  achievement.  It  combined 
magnificence  of  size  with  elegance  of  structure 
and  luxury  of  equipment, — furthermore  it  was 
just  off  the  high  road,  and  within  ten  minutes' 
walk  of  the  stone  pier.  On  this  latter  point 
Mr.  Mercer  had  made  a  concession  to  domestic 
exigencies  ;  his  steam  yacht  could  not  always  be 
requisitioned  when  household  matters  were  con- 
cerned ;  and  as  he  was  building,  and  could  choose 


10  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   TUDDOCK 

his  own  site,  having  bought  the  entire  estate,  it 
was  represented  to  him  that  he  might  as  well  as 
not  reap  the  benefit  of  daily  steamers,  and  also 
have  the  amusement  of  seeing  them  load  and 
unload  from  his  windows. 

He  bargained  for  a  telescope,  and  did  as  he 
was  bid. 

And  though  the  brand  new  erection  was  perhaps 
rather  too  much  en  evidence  for  the  taste  of  old- 
fashioned  people,  there  was  no  denying  that  it 
was  architecturally  a  success.  Its  owner  had 
kept  his  own  ideas  and  tastes  in  the  background ; 
he  w^as  not  going  to  '  keep  a  dog  and  bark  him- 
self ; '  he  said  :  he  had  inquired  round,  and  found 
the  best  man  to  go  to ;  then  turned  him  loose 
with  open  purse-strings.  It  was  a  very  wise 
thing  to  do. 

"  For  all  we  want  is  a  good,  solid,  comfortable 
'ouse,"  quoth  our  worthy — then  corrected  himself 
hastily  :  "  but  mind,  it's  a  castle." 

For  several  reasons  he  wished  it  to  be  a  castle ; 
but  the  most  potent  of  these  was  a  secret  con- 
viction that  without  being  able  to  help  himself 
he  would  say  '  'Ouse  '  every  time  the  word  came 
up. 

Accordingly  the  turrets   of   Losca  Castle  rose 


"  I   HATE    UGLY   MEN  "  11 

broad  and  high,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  that 
they  were  turrets.  Even  when  reflected  in  the 
waters  of  the  bay,  as  these  lay  glassy  and  shining 
beneath,  their  battlements  were  sharply  defined  ; 
and  the  entrance  gates,  visible  far  up  the  Sound, 
carried  out  the  idea. 

Within  all  was  breadth,  and  space,  and  height. 
"  None  of  your  nasty  low  ceilings  for  me.  Can't 
breathe  in  'em,"  said  Jonathan,  expanding  his 
chest.  "  And  mind  you,  let  there  be  plenty  of 
everything  " — and  those  were  the  only  orders  he 
gave. 

He  did  not  even  remain  upon  the  spot,  but 
went  and  came,  and  nodded  his  approbation,  at 
long  intervals. 

Masons  and  carpenters,  plumbers  and  painters 
winked  at  each  other,  as  the  stout  little  figure 
turned  its  back  after  having  stood  silently  among 
them,  while  'the  boss'  pointed  hither  and  thither, 
— and  when  their  work  was  finished  they  collected 
their  tools  and  went  off  reluctantly,  for  the  old 
man  had  let  it  be  understood  that  he  was  satisfied 
after  a  substantial  and  satisfactory  fashion. 

"  It's  all  right ;  "  was  pretty  much  the  sum  total 
of  his  praise,  however  ;  and  the  young  man  to 
whose   credit  Losca  Castle  now   stands,  was   in 


12  SIR   TATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

consequence  startled  beyond  measure  when  with 
a  sudden  jingling  of  keys  in  his  right-hand  pocket 
— it  is  presumed  they  were  keys  that  jingled  ; 
something  always  did  when  Mr.  Mercer  was 
about  to  plunge — the  millionaire  turned  sharply 
towards  him,  "  Look  here,  will  you  finish  the 
job?" 

"  But — hum,  ha" — the  young  architect  rubbed 
his  head  in  perplexity.  He  thought  the  job  was 
finished.  Was  there  anything  wrong  ?  Any 
alteration ? 

"No,  no:  that's  not  it.  No,  do;  not  at  all. 
You  have  built  me  a  good  'ouse,  a  capital  'ouse," 
said  Jonathan,  heartily.  "  It's  just  right, — and 
with  me  '  just  right '  means  just  right.  I'll  never 
pick  an  'ole  afterwards.  What  I  want  now  is  to 
know" — he  paused,  and  cocked  his.  eye;  then 
with  a  sudden  blurt,  "  will  ye  furnish  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  being  surprised,"  continued 
he,  with  a  laugh  and  a  nod.  "It  mayn't  be  the 
regulation  way  of  doing  things,  but  what's  that 
to  us  ?  We  know  nuthin'  about  such  things,  my 
wife  and  I.  You  do.  You  have  built  me  a 
splendid  'ouse,  and  what  you  have  got  to  do 
now  is  to  put  in  the  sticks.  I'll  make  it  wuth 
your  while.     D'ye  see  ?  " 


"I   HATE   UGLY   MEN"  13 

Whereat  Mr.  Alma  Tadeina  Jones  saw,  to  the 
mutual  advantage  of  Losca  Castle  and  him- 
self. 

It  may  be  taken  for  granted  then,  that  every- 
thing vv^ithin  and  without  the  domain  was  of  the 
best,  and  that  it  was  by  far  the  finest  abode  Miss 
Sophia  Gill  had  ever  set  foot  in,  or  indeed  seen 
the  outside  of,  when,  all  curiosity  and  delight,  she 
sprang  from  room  to  room,  and  upstairs  and 
downstairs,  on  her  arrival  there. 

Heretofore  her  ideas  of  Scotland  had  been  of 
the  vaguest.  The  Gill  family,  none  of  whom  had 
ever  crossed  the  Border,  had  indeed  told  their 
friends  with  exultation  of  Sophy's  luck  in  going 
thither,  and  her  father  with  a  reminiscence  of 
Oxford  days  and  friends  who  occasionally  shot 
and  fished  on  Highland  moors  and  rivers,  had 
warned  his  daughter  she  would  have  to  'rough  it' 
— but  for  this  he  had  been  corrected  briskly  by 
his  wife  :  "  As  if  the  Mercers  ever  roughed  it!" 
Sophy,  between  her  knowledge  of  the  Mercers, 
and  her  ignorance  of  everything  else,  must  have 
had  conflicting  and  peculiar  anticipations. 

But  nothing  came  amiss  to  her ;  nothing  ever 
came  amiss  to  the  Gills  in  the  shape  of  an  invita- 
tion ;  and  its  reception  in  the  small,  over-stocked 


14  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

parsonage,  was  all  that  the  heart  of  Benevolence 
itself  could  desire. 

Previously,  Mrs.  Mercer  had  made  the  pro- 
position to  her  husband  in  these  terms  : 

"Jonathan,  those  poor  Gills." 

"  Well  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  done  for  them." 

"  You  seem  to  do  it  without  knowing,  then," 

"  But  Jonathan  " — a  pause. 

"  What  is  in  your  mind  now  ?  "  said  he. 

At  last  it  all  came  out.  She  had  been  over  to 
see  the  Gills — who  were  generally  spoken  of  as 
'  the  poor  Gills ' — that  afternoon.  She  had 
found  the  small,  hot,  stuffy  house  even  fuller 
than  usual ;  for  not  only  had  the  boys  been  sent 
home  from  school  a  week  before  the  holidays, 
owing  to  an  outbreak  of  some  complaint,  but 
they  had  actually  brought  with  them  a  belated 
schoolfellow,  who  had  nowhere  else  to  go, — and 
the  already  overburdened  mother,  with  a  patient 
smile,  had  refused  to  see  any  hardship  in  this 
addition  to  her  cares.  "  They're  so  happy  to  be 
at  home,  and  it  is  nice,  fine  weather,"  said  she, 
cheerfully. 

"  But  where  in  the  world  do  you  put  them  all?  " 
demanded  Mrs.   Mercer,  who   kind   as   she  was, 


"I   HATE    UGLY   MEN"  15 

would  say  anything  she  chose  to  *  the  poor 
Gills.' 

When  she  had  heard  all,  and  taken  her  leave, 
she  pondered  deeply  on  her  way  home.  There 
was  she  sitting  alone  in  her  big  carriage,  and 
going  back  to  her  big  house,  where  only  her 
husband  would  sit  with  her  all  the  evening. 

The  couple  were  sociable  and  hospitable,  but 
they  loved  to  be  alone  between  whiles ;  and  it  was 
this  predilection  for  intervals  of  absolute  rest  and 
freedom,  which  made  her  pause  before  committing 
herself  to  the  venture  which  yet  she  could  not 
dismiss  from  her  thoughts. 

"You  see  it's  Sophy?  "she  murmured,  inter- 
rogatively. 

' '  Sophy  ?    What  about  Sophy  ?  ' ' 

"  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it,  and  yet  I 
can't  make  up  my  mind  not  to  do  it.  To  take  her 
with  us  to  Losca,  I  mean.  You  see  we  have  never 
taken  a  girl  in  that  way  before.  They  have  come 
and  visited  us  ;  come  for  a  week  or  two,  and  then 
gone  on  to  some  other  place ;  but  if  we  take  a 
Gill  girl — of  course  it  must  be  Sophy,  for  none  of 
the  others  are  old  enough,  besides  it  would  be  a 
shame  to  pass  Sophy  by,  even  if  Ethel  is  better 
looking — what  I  was  saying  is  that  if  we  take  a 


16  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

girl  of  that  sort  she  must  stay  with  us  the  whole 
time  ;  "  emphatically.  "  She  must  go  with  us  and 
come  with  us.  And  three  months  is  three  months. 
Sophy  would  have  to  be  quite  intimate ;  and  of 
course  ever  afterwards  she  would  have  to  go  on 
being  intimate.  One  has  to  take  that  into  con- 
sideration. You  can't  break  off  when  you've  once 
begun.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think— take  her." 

"  That's  so  like  you,  Jonathan  ;  "  drawing  back 
on  the  instant ;  "men  are  always  so  off-hand  and 
airy  ; — and  I  daresay  you  are  laughing  at  me  in 
your  sleeve,  and  wondering  what  on  earth  I  am 
making  a  fuss  about?" 

It  was  precisely  what  Jonathan  was  doing. 

"  I  daresa}'^  now  you  are  saying  to  yourself  that 
it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  Sophy,  and  for  me 
too." 

"  I  was,  old  lady — I  was." 

"  But  it's  not  a  fine  thing  at  all ;  "  with  asperity. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  " 

"  She'd  be  dreadfully  in  the  way,  sometimes. 
And  I'm  not  so  old  but  I  can  still  do  my  own 
business  in  the  house,  and  need  help  from  nobody. 
And  suppose  she  were  taken  sick  ?  Or,  wanted  to 
go  home'?     Or ?" 


"  I   HATE   UGLY   MEN  "  17 

"Trust  her  not  to  do  that,  at  all  events;" 
Jonathan  smiled  significantly.  "  Miss  Sophy 
will  know  a  good  billet  when  she  finds  it.  And 
as  for  her  turning  sick,  a  great  healthy  creature 
like  that  is  never  sick.  Give  her  enough  to  eat 
and  drink,  and  she'd  thrive  in  a  cellar.  You  take 
Sophy." 

"  It  does  seem  rather  a  shame  not  to  take  her  ;  " 
relenting. 

"  And  get  her  some  frocks.  She'll  need  frocks 
and  things." 

"  She's  a  sensible,  good-humoured  girl,  Jona- 
than ;  and  so  safely  plain  that  there  would  be  no 
trouble  with  the  young  men " 

"Ain't  you  going  to  pick  her  up  a  husband 
then?  " 

All  at  once  Mrs.  Mercer's  countenance  bright- 
ened. Oddly  enough  that  idea  had  not  before 
occurred  to  her.  From  having  neither  sons,  nor 
daughters,  nor  any  young  relation  whose  matri- 
monial concerns  could  be  presided  over,  she  had 
almost  grown  to  forget  that  such  things  existed, 
and  that  summer  and  winter,  seed  time  and 
harvest  did  not  roll  round  and  round  with  the 
same  easy,  unexpectant  monotony  for  every  one 
as  they  did  for  her  and  Jonathan. 

3 


18  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

But  to  be  sure,  although  she  was  never  allowed 
a  say  in  Mary  Harborough's  affairs,  nor  even  to 
have  Mary  by  herself  on  a  visit — an  old  rankle — 
because  forsooth  the  company  beneath  Mary's 
own  uncle's  roof  was  supposed  not  to  be  good 
enough  for  Lady  Harborough's  daughter,  she 
might  make  up  a  match  for  poor  Sophy  Gill  and 
welcome.  Sophy's  parents  would  bless  her.  The 
girl  herself — why,  it  might  be  the  chance  of  her 
life! 

The  very  next  day  Mrs.  Mercer  drove  over  to 
the  parsonage  and  popped  a  cheque  into  Sophy's 
hands. 

"  For  of  course  Scotland  requires  different  sort 
of  clothes,"  said  she,  cheerfully.  "You  just  tell 
your  mother  that ;  and  ask  her  to  excuse  my 
taking  the  liberty.  You  must  have  dressy  things, 
and  rough  things.  And  a  good  macintosh  and 
umbrella.  Oh,  and  Sophy,  don't  forget  stout 
boots ;  boots  that  will  stand  knocking  about. 
But,  my  dear,  you  must  be  quite  smart  some- 
times. On  Sundays.  And  in  the  evenings.  You 
will  need  a  couple  of  evening  dresses  at  the  least 
— and  a  blouse  to  put  on  when  w'e're  by  our- 
selves  " 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Mercer,  how  awfully,  awfully  good 


"I   HATE    UGLY   MEN"  19 

you  are  !  "  Sophy's  eyes  were  starting  from  her 
head.  Nothing  hke  this  had  ever  happened  in 
her  hfe  before. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  do  it,  my  dear."  The  old 
lady's  heart  warmed  as  she  spoke.  "Very  glad 
indeed,  I  assure  you.  I  hope  we  shall  be  very 
happy  together." 

"Happy!  "  cried  Sophy,  in  an  ecstacy. 

"  I'll  get  her  a  husband,  I  declare  I  will."  Mrs. 
Mercer  subsequently  vowed  the  above  a  dozen 
times ;  but  still  no  one  presented  himself  at  Losca 
Castle  who  appeared  in  the  least  disposed  to 
assume  the  title  ;  and  now,  now  that  Sir  Patrick 
Kinellan — but  Sir  Patrick  must  not  be  thus 
hustled  in,  neck  and  crop,  at  the  end  of  a 
chapter. 


CHAPTEK   II 

PLAYFUL     SELINA 

niR  PATRICK  was  a  curious,  old-fashioned 
^  creature,  whose  ideas  about  himself  were 
forever  at  variance ;  but  both  his  shyness  and 
his  pride,  his  diffidence  and  his  dignity  would 
have  shrunk  appalled  before  the  idea  of  his 
forming  the  subject  of  discussion,  matrimonially, 
among  his  new-found  neighbours. 

For  so  long  had  he  lived  his  own  life,  by  so 
many  had  his  bachelorhood  been  taken  for  granted, 
and  his  reticence  upon  the  subject  respected,  that 
at  forty  years  of  age  he  felt  himself  as  safe  from 
attacks,  expectations,  or  even  jests  as  though  he 
had  been  a  hundred. 

Time  was  when  the  homely-featured,  unattrac- 
tive boy  keenly  felt  and  bitterly  resented  the  con- 
trast between  himself  and  his  younger  brother, 
as  handsome  and  gallant  a  lad  as  any  one  would 

20 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  21 

wish  to  see, — but  now  he  never  envied  Nigel. 
Within  his  own  walls  he  had  peace  and  comfort ; 
and  told  himself  that  he  would  not  exchange  his 
solitude,  and  the  serenity  of  his  congenial,  secluded 
life,  for  the  outwardly  far  more  prosperous  and 
successful  career  of  the  dashing  soldier,  cankered 
as  it  was  by  secret  misery. 

Nigel  had  married  a  pretty  and  wealthy  girl — a 
marriage  approved  by  every  one — and  only  one 
person  knew,  knew  at  least  to  its  fullest  extent, 
how  that  marriage  had  turned  out.  Domestic 
bliss  is  not  the  world's  concern  ;  no  one  supposed 
that  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Kinellan  were  a  devoted 
couple, — but  then  what  did  it  matter?  They 
were  rich  enough  to  afford  a  large  house,  and  had 
no  need  to  bother  with  each  other, — (the  situation 
was  thus  disposed  of  once  in  Sir  Patrick's  hearing, 
and  he  had  never  forgotten  it). 

Had  he  been  handsome,  blythe,  and  taking  as 
Nigel,  with  the  good  luck  to  wed  an  heiress  as 
charming  as  himself,  would  that  have  been  the 
end  of  it  with  him,  too,  he  wondered '? 

Nigel  had  brought  his  bride  to  the  old  High- 
land home,  when  he  was  as  much  in  love  with 
her  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  be  ;  and  Sir  Patrick, 
who  read  his  Shakespeare,  and  often  had  a  mental 


22  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

quotation  to  suit  a  passing  moment,  turned  away 
more  than  once  from  the  sight  of  the  honey- 
mooners  philandering  up  the  glen,  or  by  the  lake  ; 
turned  away  murmuring  :  "  But  oh,  how  bitter  a 
thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another 
man's  eyes." 

Subsequently  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  believe 
in  the  possibility  of  what  every  one  else  knew  to 
be  an  accomplished  fact.  Eumour  never  reached 
him,  and  he  had  only  his  own  eyes  and  ears  and 
observation  to  depend  upon. 

But  alas  !  they  were  not  to  be  misdoubted  ;  and 
once  disillusion  set  in,  there  was  no  more  jealousy, 
only  a  profound  and  tender  pity  for  the  husband, 
and  a  burning  contempt  for  the  wife. 

As  was  natural  also,  all  Sir  Patrick's  views  of 
life  on  its  domestic  side  were  coloured  by  this 
unfortunate  experience.  Here  was  Nigel,  he 
argued,  a  man  whom  any  woman  might  love, 
and  who  had  certainly  been  once  beloved — for 
had  he  not  himself  been  a  witness  to  the  endear- 
ments, the  blandishments  ? — and  Nigel  was  all 
that  he  ever  had  been,  nay,  he  was  a  better  fellow, 
a  kinder,  gentler  fellow,  infinitely  less  selfish  and 
masterful  than  in  the  old  days — yet  the  love, 
where  was  it  ? 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  23 

It  amazed  the  elder  brother  who  had  such  a 
deep-seated,  pathetic  admiration  for  everything 
the  other  said  and  did,  to  hear  his  opinion  either 
jeered  at,  or  ignored  as  of  too  httle  vahie  to  be 
worth  even  a  scoff.  It  wounded  him  to  his  inmost 
soul  to  see  the  growing  indifference  with  which 
such  contempt  was  met. 

At  one  time  Nigel  would  have  coloured  and  bit 
his  lips,  or  flashed  out  resentment — which  after 
all,  was  better  than  apathy,  the  result  of  a  long 
growth  of  shame, — but  Sir  Patrick  knew  that 
now  he  need  fear  none  of  the  bickerings  which 
had  shocked  and  startled  him  in  earlier 
years. 

There  was  one  child  of  the  marriage,  a  little 
girl ;  and  for  Christabel's  sake  (so  she  said) ,  the 
mother,  who  never  found  out  that  she  was  no 
favourite  with  her  brother-in-law,  would  every 
now  and  then  consent  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at 
Kinellan  House,  little  suspecting  it  was  mainly 
for  Christabel's  sake  she  was  tolerated  there. 

She  thought  she  brought  life,  and  gaiety,  and  a 
breath  of  the  great  world  to  the  gloomy  mansion 
buried  in  its  dismal  glen.  She  vowed  the  first 
sight  of  it  gave  her  the  blues.  She  told  her 
friends  it  always  rained  there — always.     She  said 


24  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Sir  Patrick  rattled  in  it  like  a  pea  in  a  pod — with 
other  small  pleasantries. 

But  when  Colonel  Kinellan  suggested  curtly 
that  there  was  no  occasion  for  his  wife  to  put 
herself  out,  as  he  was  not  aware  that  any  invita- 
tion had  come  to  her  from  his  brother,  she  won- 
dered what  on  earth  the  man  would  say  next  ? 
No  invitation,  indeed !  As  if  she  needed  an 
invitation  !  As  if  poor  dear  Sir  Patrick  would 
ever  have  the  '  cheek '  to  ask  her !  Of  course  it 
was  for  her  to  offer — "  And  for  Chrissy's  sake  I 
shall  offer,"  concluded  Madam,  with  a  toss  of  her 
head. 

Presently  she  would  add  "  Are  you  coming  with 
us?" 

She  v/ished  him  to  go,  and  he  always  went, — 
but  he  had  his  reason  and  she  hers.  He  could  at 
least  stand  between  his  poor  old  Pat  and  anything 
he  knew  Pat  would  particularly  dislike,  but  which 
singlehanded  a  host  might  be  unable  to  prevent ; 
— also  he  looked  forward  to  twilight  talks,  and 
smokes,  and  wanderings  about  the  moorland  and 
the  shore,  when  he  could  once  more  feel  himself 
something  of  the  Nigel  of  by-gone  days, — while 
she  with  all  her  affected  aversion  to  the  spot,  in 
reality  cast  upon  it  the  eye  of  future  possession. 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  25 

In  the  long  absences  of  the  brothers,  when  not 
a  sound  woke  the  echoes  of  the  lonely  house,  she 
could  pry  at  will  into  its  recesses,  measure  the 
gallery  for  a  dance,  apportion  the  rooms  for  gay 
guests  and  endless  house  parties ;  re-furnish  one 
particular  turret-chamber  which  even  in  its 
present  condition  foreshadowed  a  charming 
boudoir  for  herself. 

Furthermore,  she  appraised  the  pictures,  the 
china,  the  old  cabinets  and  bureaux.  She  might 
keep  them,  or  she  might  not.  Anyhow  they 
were  of  value. 

There  were  diamonds,  too,  and  lace ;  that  she 
knew.  But  she  could  not  get  at  them ;  and 
certainly  would  never  get  at  them  if  she  did  not 
ingratiate  herself  with  their  possessor.  Funny 
old  man,  what  on  earth  did  he  want  with  lace  and 
diamonds  ?  He  ought  to  have  given  them  to  her 
ages  ago.  Still,  of  course,  the  poor  old  thing 
thought  he  might  marry, — and  the  wonder  was 
that  he  had  not  married.  If  he  only  knew  his 
worth  ;  knew  that  there  were  girls  by  the  dozen 
who  would  jump  at  him,  old  and  ugly  as  he  was, 
for  the  sake  of  being  Lady  Kinellan ;  he  would 
be  run  in — horrible  to  think  of  ! — before  he  knew 
where  he  was. 


26  SIK   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

And  how  she  would  have  hated  a  Lady  Kinellan ; 
and  how  odious  it  would  have  been  to  have  seen 
her  swaggering  through  the  London  season,  and 
then  inviting  all  the  people  to  Kinellan  for  the 
Highland  season  ! 

As  it  was,  Selina  did  the  part  of  understudy, 
and  bided  her  time. 

Sir  Patrick  was  six  years  his  brother's  senior, 
and  with  his  old  coats,  and  old-mannish  ways  and 
habits,  was  certainly  in  effect  much  more.  She 
easily  persuaded  herself  that  one  of  these  days  he 
would  drop  off  quietly,  and  then  hey !  for  a  good 
time,  and  no  more  locked  drawers.  What  a 
rummage  she  would  have  ! 

"He's  such  a  dear  little  old  man,"  she  would 
say  confidentially  in  her  own  set ;  (for  curiously 
enough,  she  did  not  at  all  dislike  the  man  who 
kept  her  out  of  so  much,  and  who,  had  she  known 
it,  shrank  from  her  with  such  an  unconquerable 
aversion) — "  he's  a  perfect  little  fright,  you  know ; 
but  quite  a  darling.  Lets  me  do  whatever  I 
like ;  and  I  daresay  would  be  thankful  to  have 
me  there  all  the  year  round.  Chris  is  simply 
spoilt  when  she  goes  to  Kinellan.  Of  course  it 
will  all  be  hers  one  day  ;  "  carelessly. 

Nigel  was  rarely  mentioned,  never  taken  into 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  27 

account  by  his  wife.  The  most  significant  re- 
ference to  him  on  the  part  of  the  elder  brother 
would  be  not  only  unheeded,  but  absolutely  un- 
perceived, — since  she  had  settled  it  with  herself 
that  only  jealousy  and  dislike  could  exist  within  the 
bosom  of  one  so  inferior  both  mentally  and  physi- 
cally, (Nigel  had  outstripped  his  brother  in  every 
scholastic  competition)  ; — and  having  moreover 
learned  that  nothing  had  been  wanting  to  excite 
such  a  feeling  on  the  part  of  parents  whose  pride 
had  been  mortified  in  their  heir,  and  who  had  in 
consequence  lavished  all  their  affection  on  their 
only  other  child,  nothing  more  was  needed. 

"  Really,  you  know,  I  believe  no  one  cares  for 
poor  Patrick  except  me,"  Selina  in  a  fit  of  virtue 
would  protest.  "  Of  course  Nigel  is  by  way  of ;  " 
contemptuously.  "  But  when  we  first  married, 
J  remember  he  told  me  to  be  prepared  for  a 
little  squat,  dark,  wild-looking  man,  w^ho  hardly 
ever  spoke,  and  spent  the  whole  day  out  of  doors. 
If  I  remind  him  of  that  now,  he  flies  out  in  a 
passion — but  he  said  it  all  the  same.  And  when 
the  two  are  together,  my  dears,  such  a  contrast  !  " 
All  the  arching  of  two  practised  eyebrows  could 
not  sufficiently  convey  the  contrast. 

Though  she  no  longer  cared  twopence  for  the 


28  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

handsome  Guardsman  who  had  won  her  fickle 
affections  ten  years  before,  SeHna  did  not  behind 
his  back  deny  Nigel's  looks.  "Only  he's  such 
a  bore  ;  "  she  would  fan  herself,  yawning.  Once 
she  added,  "  I  declare,  I  believe  I  should  have 
done  better  with  Patrick." 

The  thing  that  pleased  her  most  about  her 
brother-in-law  was  his  persistent  clinging  to  the 
home  of  his  childhood.  "  It  is  so  nice  and  dear 
of  him.  Of  course  he  is  happier  there  ;  he  would 
make  nothing  of  society," — (this  was  for  an  audi- 
ence, we  know  her  private  opinion) — "  but  it  is 
only  one  man  in  a  thousand  who  would  have  the 
sense  to  see  it.  When  Sir  Patrick  goes  to  London, 
he  spends  his  time  at  the  different  '  sights  !  ' 
Fancy !  The  '  sights,'  you  knov/ !  I  believe  he 
does  them  regularly ;  goes  up  the  Great  Wheel 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  But  I  must  say  he  has  one 
respectable  taste.  He  attends  the  opera  regularly. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  He  is  desperately,  ridiculously 
fond  of  music — oh,  he  sits  and  thrums  by  himself 
on  the  old  piano  at  Kinellan ;  Chris  found  that  out ; 
and  since  then,  I  have  made  her  get  hold  of  the 
new  tunes,  and  practice  before  we  go  there.  Well, 
my  dear,  I  do  assure  you,  this  odd  creature,  who 
likes  nothing  else  that  he  ought  to  like,  simply 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  29 

lives  at  the  opera.  He  is  there  night  after  night, 
always  by  himself,  and  always  in  a  front  seat.  I 
wish  he  would  have  a  box,  and  take  us — me,  at 
least,  for  my  husband  wouldn't  be  paid  to  go, — 
but  Pat  dislikes  having  other  people  with  him. 
Oh,  I  believe  he  sits  and  stares  at  cricket  matches, 
too, — and  that  is  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan's  London 
season !  Isn't  it  comical  ?  Isn't  it  a  joke  ? 
People  can't  invite  him,  for  he  won't  give  an 
address,  and  he  never  goes  near  his  club  ;  for  fear 
of  the  letters,  he  says.  Once  he  didn't  even  tell 
me  where  he  was  staying,  and  I  pretended  to  be 
very  angry, — but  of  course  no  one  can  be  really 
angry  with  an  oddity  ; — and  he  said  it  was  only 
because  he  knew  I  would  wish  to  be  hospitable, 
and  he  had  come  up  to  enjoy  himself, — wasn't 
that  amusing?  Oh,  we  are  the  best  of  friends, 
and  as  he  won't  come  to  see  me,  I  go  to  see  him, 
which  is  far  better." 

Indeed,  scarcely  an  autumn  passed  that  she  did 
not  find  her  way  to  Kinellan  House,  before  pro- 
ceeding to  gayer  haunts  ;  and  a  veritable  thorn  in 
the  flesh  did  she  prove  to  worthy  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mercer  on  first  taking  up  their  residence  at  Losca 
Castle. 

At  church— for  of  course  she  went  to  church — 


30  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

she  looked  at  them  through  her  eyeglass.     "  Good 
heavens  !  what  horrors  !  " 

She  had,  however,  been  obliged  to  speak  to  the 
horrors  ;  indeed  she  was  longing  to  do  so  in  order 
to  be  rude  to  them— and  Sir  Patrick's  neighbourly- 
greeting  was  quite  what  she  had  been  prepared 
for.  It  was  delicious  to  look  up  and  down  Mrs. 
Mercer's  tall,  handsome,  well-clad  figure,  and  if 
she  could  not  precisely  call  it  '  vulgar,'  indicate 
unmistakably  that  it  was  not  '  smart.' 

To  husband  and  wife  she  would  condescend  ; 
but  none  of  their  guests  had  any  species  of  recog- 
nition from  the  female  head  of  the  Kinellan  party. 
Sophy  Gill,  who  was  silently  taking  in  every 
detail  of  a  wonderful  dress,  and  who  stood  fast 
by  the  side  of  her  patroness,  hoping  for  an 
introduction  and  future  garden-parties,  was 
disappointed  by  Selina's  turning  away  without 
apparently  seeing  any  one  was  there. 

Sir  Patrick,  however,  was  rather  cheerful  on 
the  subject.  "  We  must  ask  them  to  dinner," 
said  he,  handing  his  sister-in-law  into  the  carriage, 
and  preparing  to  walk  home  himself. 

"Oh,  must  we?"  she  said,  in  reality  well 
pleased.     Any  variety  was  welcome. 

"  I  waited  till  you  came." 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  31 

"  Allriglit,  what  day?" 

"  Well,  I  thought  of  Thursday  ;  we  shall  all  be 
dead  beat  on  Tuesday  and  Wednesday — (Tuesday 
was  the  '  twelfth  ') — but  we  shall  take  it  easy  on 
Thursday  ;  "  and  he  shut  the  carriage  door. 

When  he  got  home,  he  added  something  else. 
"  We'll  ask  them  all,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Selina. 

And  when  Thursday  came  she  put  on  her  very 
smartest  frock,  and  laughed  to  herself. 

She  governed  her  countenance  when  she  found 
Sir  Patrick  rather  fussy  about  his  dinner,  and 
careful  that  everything  should  be  done  in  style. 
He  was  quite  right ;  only  she  would  have  liked 
him  to  sneer  with  her  in  private,  not  treat  the 
affair  as  he  did,  with  perfect  seriousness  and 
respect. 

"  As  we  only  know  that  there  are  twelve  of 
them  coming,  and  not  any  more  about  them,  we 
can't  be  expected  to  understand  who  should  go 
with  whom,"  said  he,  simply;  "I  take  Mrs.  Mercer, 
and  Mr.  Mercer  takes  you ;  and  if  there  is  another 
married  woman  of  the  party,  Nigel  must  take 
her — but  that  can't  be  decided  till  they  appear. 
I  Have  told  Macleod  and  Scott  " — two  young 
shooting  men,  who  were  his  only  other  guests— 


32  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  to  be  ready  to  pick  out  partners  for  themselves, 
and  the  rest  will  have  to  manage  somehow. 
These  sort  of  parties  can't  be  formal." 

"No,  certainly."  She  wondered  how  he  knew 
so  much. 

"  It's  rather  jolly  having  neighbours,"  pro- 
ceeded Sir  Patrick.  "  Old  Mercer  seems  quite 
unpretending  and  friendly.  I  suppose  he  is  what 
you  call  vulgar,  but  I  don't  mind.  It  has  done 
a  lot  of  good  having  that  big  place  built.  I  don't 
know  how  many  poor  families  have  not  been  kept 
going  while  it  was  building ;  and  though  I'm 
afraid  there  won't  be  any  more  of  that  now 
that  it  is  finished  and  inhabited,  still  there  will 
be  pickings.  It  is  a  great  thing  that  he  has  not 
brought  down  his  own  keepers  and  gardeners,  but 
given  all  the  posts  to  people  here  ;  even  the  head 
gardener  was  our  second  man  ;  and  a  piece  of 
luck  it  was  for  Mackinnon ;  he  was  actually 
looking  out  to  better  himself,  and  hung  on  with 
us  till  Losca  Castle  started  building.  Then  I 
said  a  word  for  him,  and  he  got  the  situation  in 
a  jiffy.  I  supplied  the  head  keeper,  too  ;  "  with 
complacency. 

"  You  take  quite  a  fatherly  interest  in  it  all," 
said  the  lady,  pleasantly. 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  S3 

"  Oh,  I  do  ;  I  asked  the  men  how  they  were 
getting  on  the  other  day,  and  they  both  said 
'First-rate.'  " 

"  Those  milHonaires  always  pay  well." 
"  Hum  I     No   better   than   we   do,"    said    Sir 
Patrick,  with  a  little  quiet  pride.     "Mercer  asked 
me   what   I   gave,  and   said   he  should  give  the 
same." 

"  Dear  !     He  should  have  doubled  it." 
"  Why  should  he  have  doubled  it  ?  " 
"Why  because  you  are  ijou,'"  said  Selina,  with 
a  laugh,  "  and  Mr.  Mercer  is — Mr.  Mercer.     To 
be  only  Mr.  Mercer's  gardener — don't  you  see?  " 
"Not  at  all,  Losca  gardens  will  be  much  more 
likely  to  become  noted  than  ours.     I  fancy  Mercer 
is  fond  of  his  garden,  and  will  spend  money  upon 
it." 

"  Though  he  would  give  no  higher  wages?  " 
"  That's  different ;  he  might  not  choose  to  out- 
bid mc.  Between  ourselves,  I  was  very  well 
pleased  that  he  did  not ;  and  it  is  quite  likely — I 
mean  of  course  I  don't  know — but  from  the  kind 
of  man  I  take  him  to  be,  I  fancy  it  is  not  unlikely 

that " 

"  That  he  wants  to  put  himself  on  a  par  with 
you." 

4 


34  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

This  was  not  what  Sir  Patrick  meant,  but  he 
saw  the  hopelessness  of  explanation.  What  he 
had  divined  was  precisely  the  truth,  that  his 
homely  neighbour  who  could  not  speak  good 
English  and  whose  excellent  clothes  never  seemed 
quite  at  home  upon  his  burly  back,  had  instincts 
which  served  him  in  the  place  of  knowledge, 
education,  and  fine  breeding.  One  of  these 
instincts  told  him  that  it  could  neither  be 
agreeable  to  the  older  proprietor,  nor  desirable  for 
his  own  dependants  to  have  an  over-flowing  purse 
showered  indiscriminately  among  the  latter. 

Donalds  and  Dugalds  had  indeed  anticipated 
such  a  shower  with  glee,  their  opinions  on  the 
point  coinciding  with  those  of  Mrs.  Kinellan  to  a 
nicety ;  while  their  master  had  owned  to  himself 
that  it  was  only  too  probable  the  amplest  of 
expectations  would  be  realised. 

"  Of  course  he'll  spoil  them;  "  Sir  Patrick  had 
groaned  within  himself,  looking  with  a  frown  at 
the  rising  turrets  of  the  castle.  But  when  the 
greedy  underlings  —  what  underlings  are  not 
greedy? — we  should  be  so  too,  in  their  place — 
were  surprised  and  disappointed.  Sir  Patrick 
was  jubilant. 

The   millionaire's  moderation   delighted   him ; 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  35 

it  did  more,  it  turned  the  scale  in  Mr.  Mercer's 
favour  for  all  time. 

"  He's  a  good  fellow — I'm  sure  he's  a  good 
fellow,"  quoth  the  baronet,  stumping  away  home 
after  his  first  interview,  which  had  been  held  at 
the  agent's  house  as  a  sort  of  neutral  ground ; 
(but  after  this  the  worthy  Mercer  called  quite 
easily  at  Kinellan,  and  talked  of  other  things  than 
business) — so  that  by  the  time  the  great  new 
building  was  inhabited,  he  had  become  fairly  well 
known  to  his  brother  proprietor,  and  the  good 
impression  made  at  the  outset  was  well  stamped 
in  when  we  find  Selina  and  her  host  in  con- 
ference. 

It  was  not,  however,  worth  arguing  out  with 
a  person  Sir  Patrick  so  heartily  disliked ;  and  he 
had  only  mentioned  the  matter  from  being  in  a 
humour  to  talk,  and  to  let  her  see  that  he,  at 
least,  was  going  to  be  civil  to  the  Mercers.  She 
might,  or  might  not ;  he  could  not  help  that,  and 
certainly  would  not  condescend  to  request  civility ; 
but  if  he  shewed  his  own  hand,  he  knew  her  well 
enough  to  shrewdly  conjecture  she  would  follow 
suit  on  the  surface — which  was  all  he  cared  about. 

Thus,  "  I  fancy  the  wife  is  a  cut  above  the 
husband;"  observed  he. 


36  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Selina  turned  down  her  lips. 

"  She's  a  remarkably  handsome  woman." 

Selina  could  not  deny  it. 

"  There  are  no  children,  so " 

"  Who  is  to  get  all  the  money?  " 

This  Sir  Patrick  could  not  say.  He  had  never 
heard  of  Mary  Harborough. 

"It  is  a  pity  there  is  no  daughter,"  said  Selina, 
playfully,  "  she  would  have  been  just  the  wife  for 
you." 

"The  wife?"  He  looked  surprised;  he  had 
hardly  thought  she  would  venture  so  far. 
"  Thanks,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  am  in  need 
of  a  wife," 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are.  Very  much  in  need  ;  no  one 
more  so,"  nodding  at  him. 

"  Indeed?  "—stiffly.  "  But,"  said  Sir  Patrick, 
with  an  effort  not  to  let  too  much  of  his  inward 
annoyance  appear,  "if  I  am,  why  should — 
excuse  me  if  I  fail  to  see  why  a  daughter  of  Mr. 
Mercer's  should  be  supposed " 

"  My  dear  man  " — (he  did  hate  being  called  her 
'dear  man') — "nothing  would  have  been  more 
natural.  She  would  have  been  brought  to  your 
very  door ;  you  would  have  had  no  trouble ;  and 
could  have  managed  it  all   down  here  so   com- 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  87 

fortably.      You   need   never   have  left  Kinellan ; 

and   the    money   would "    she  looked  round, 

"you  are  gettmg  the  least  little  bit  out  of  date 
here,"    she  guided  his  eye  from  spot  to  spot — 

"the   money   would   have  been "    again   she 

paused  with  arch  and  significant  lifting  of  the 
eyebrows. 

"  I  have  enough  to  live  on,"  said  he, 
coldly. 

"  But  not  enough  to — Nigel  told  me  only 
yesterday  you  could  not  afford  a  house  in  Town, 
and — other  things." 

"  Did  Nigel  say  I  wished  to  have  a  house  in 
Town?" 

"  Bother  Nigel,  don't  suppose  I  minded  what 
lie  said;"  an  ugly  gleam  in  the  speaker's  eye. 
"  But,"  pursued  she,  eagerly,  (for  "Now's  my 
chance,"  she  thought)  "we  do  speak  of  it  some- 
times, you  know ;  I  said  to  your  brother  :  '  It 
must  be  dull  for  poor  Patrick  down  here,'  " 
softening  her  tones  to  sympathy,  "  'he  ought  to 
have  other  houses  to  go  to  ; '  and  v>'hen  he  said 
you  hated  visiting,  I  had  to  tell  him  it  was  not 
visiting  I  meant.  Then  he  said  in  his  quick  way 
— he  always  snubs  me,  you  knov/ — '  Pat  can't 
afford  houses  all  over  the  shop.'  " 


38  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOGK 

"  So  you  thought  a  railHonaire's  daughter 
would  put  that  right?" 

"  Well,  you  know,  even  if  you  chose  to  live  on 
here,  there  is  a  good  deal  needed :  I  heard  you  say 
yesterday  that  you  wished  you  could  buy  some 
farm  or  other,  and  that  it  used  to  be  part  of  the 
Kinellan  estate." 

He  winced.  She  was  quite  correct ;  he  had 
said  so,  with  some  regret. 

"  So  I  think  Mrs.  Mercer  might  and  ought  to 
have  had  a  daughter  for  you,"  continued  she, 
delightfully  impressive,  since  no  daughter  was 
there.     "  Here  you  are,  with  a  fine  old  title " 

"  A  baronetcy  is  not  a  title."  For  the  life  of 
him  he  could  not  hold  his  tongue.  He  was 
punctilious,  and  Selina  had  made  the  mistake 
in  his  hearing  before  now ;  he  felt  he  must  say 
something  to  annoy  her  who  was  annoying  him 
so  fully  ;  and  though  a  silent  man,  somehow  he 
did  not  wish  to  let  the  subject  drop.  More  than 
once  of  late  he  had  felt  her  approaching  it,  knew 
that  it  was  in  her  mind,  and  was  conscious  of  a 
curious  sense  of  disappointment  even  when 
contriving  successfully  to  evade  its  taking  shape. 
It  would  be  as  well  to  have  it  out  now,  and  put 
a   stop   once   for   all    to    hints    and    inuendoes. 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  39 

"  My  poor  old  baronetcy  is  not  worth  much," 
said  he,  "there  are  new  ones  every  day  to  pick 
and  choose  from.  If  that  is  all  I  have  to 
offer " 

"  You  dear  old  silly  !  " 

But  this  was  worse  than  the  '  dear  man '  ; 
Sir  Patrick  fairly  '  girned  '  in  spirit.  He  hated 
Selina,  and  never  more  than  when  she  thought 
herself  most  acceptable  to  him.  "Timeo 
Danaos,"  said  he  to  himself,  not  very  appo- 
sitely it  must  be  confessed,  but  he  knew  what 
he  meant.  Then  all  at  once  he  lost  his  temper, 
saying  openly  what  perhaps  he  had  never  said  to 
mortal  being  before. 

""What  is  all  this  about?"  said  he,  sternly. 
"  You  have  been  hinting  at  it  ever  since  you 
came  to  the  house — and  at  other  times.  Let 
us  understand  each  other.  You  profess  that  j^ou 
wish  me  to  marry.  Why?"  a  pause.  "Is  it 
that  you  think  so  highly  of  domestic  bliss  that 
you  can't  bear  me  to  be  defrauded  of  it  ?  I 
can't  think  so.  Is  it  that  you  suppose  I  am  a 
likely  man  to  be  a  woman's  choice — the  choice 
of  such  a  woman  as  would  be  fit  to  preside  in 
these  walls,  head  our  family,  and  take  the  place 
•n   it   our   mother   took?     You   would   not   dare 


40  SIR   PATKICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

to  say  so.  Is  it  that  you  are  afraid  I  shall  look 
beneath  me — pick  up  some  keeper's  or  fisher- 
man's lass,  and — knock  your  chance  on  the 
head?  Ha!"  a  harsh,  strident  laugh,  for  she 
started  and  changed  colour.  "Yes,  I  see; 
perhaps  you  think  I  am  already  married, 
madam  ?  "  he  took  a  step  forward,  and  struck 
the  table  with  his  hand.  "Is  that  it?"  he 
demanded,  grimly.  He  felt  sure  that  he  had 
hit  the  mark. 

"  Indeed,  indeed " 

"Whoever   says    so,    it's   a  damned  lie."     He 
was  hoarse  with  passion. 

"No   one   has;    I    am    sure   I   would  not  for 

worlds " 

"  Never  mind ;  protest  if  you  like.  But  if  I 
catch  you  poisoning  my  brother's  ear — no  you 
won't  do  that.  Understand,  however,  Mrs, 
Kinellan,  that  it  is  as  Nigel's  wife,  and  in  that 
capacity  alone,  I  consent  to  pardon  your  imper- 
tinent interference  in  this  matter.  Don't  suppose 
I  am  blinded  by  it.  I  know,  I  have  known  all 
along  what  you  think  of  me.  I  have  let  you 
fawn  upon  me  and  fancy  me  deceived  and 
gulled ;  but  I  never  was  so,  not  for  a  moment. 
My  poor  brother "  he  paused. 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  41 

"It  is  he  who  has  done  this."  She  was 
beginning  to  recover,  and  venom  was  on  the 
tip  of  her  tongue. 

"It  is  not.  He  never  speaks  of  you;  he 
doesn't  need,"  with  bitter  emphasis.  "I  am  not 
the  fool  you  take  me  for,"  continued  Sir  Patrick  ; 
"  and  look  here,  it  is  as  well  we  should  have 
this  out,  you  and  I,  for  it  was  bound  to  come, 
and  things  will  go  smoother  between  us  here- 
after. You  can  come  here  as  you  have  always 
done.     For  the  sake  of " 

"Appearances,"  suggested  she.  Now  she  was 
really  rather  enjoying  herself;  the  shock  had 
passed ;  and  it  v\^as  such  a  joke  to  have  made 
the  poor  little  toad  farious.  He  had  outwitted 
her ;  she  supposed  she  had  not  been  careful 
enough  ;  and  of  course  he  was  sensitive  on  his 
appearance,  as  ail  deformities  were.  ("Oh,  no; 
he's  not  quite  a  hunchback,"  she  told  her 
friends ;  "  and  he's  awfully  strong  and  broad  ; 
but  he  is  simply  hideous — at  least  I  think  so, 
by  contrast  with  his  brother.")  This  was  in  the 
days  when  Nigel  was  everything.  She  now 
suggested  the  word  "Appearances"  thinking  as 
she  did  so  ' '  Good  boy ;  no  one  need  know, 
then." 


42  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

'  The  Puddock'  however,  looked  at  her,  and  she 
could  not  but  see  the  disgust  in  his  eye. 

"I  was  going  to  say,  'For  the  sake  of  the 
child — and  Nigel,'  "  said  he,  briefly. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Kinellan  ;  she  had  entirely 
forgotten  Christabel.  Now,  however,  she  eagerly 
made  use  of  her.  "  If  you  are  rude  to  me,  she 
will  see  it;  she  is  quite  old  enough,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  shall  not  be  rude  to  you." 

"  I  hope  not,  but  you  have  been  very  rude 
to-day — Patrick.  (And  people  coming  !  "  mut- 
tered she,  to  herself.) 

The  people  coming  were  nothing  to  him,  how- 
ever. "I  have  been  more  than  rude,  I  have  been 
in  earnest ;  I  cannot  risk  a  repetition  of — of  what 
took  place  just  now."  He  turned  his  head  away 
from  her,  but  she  saw  a  movement  about  the 
muscles  of  his  throat  as  though  he  were  swal- 
lowing something.  "  I  repeat,  I  cannot  risk  it," 
he  said,  suddenly  wheeling  round;  "you  will 
please  to  understand  this.  It  must  never  happen 
again — never." 

"  Patrick,  I  promise  it  shan't ;  "  she  jumped 
up,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

He  could  not  refuse  to  take  it.  "Very  well 
then.      Perhaps    Selina,    I  "  —  hesitating  —  "I 


PLAYFUL   SELINA  43 

ought  to  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  know  much 
about  such  things,  but  it  appears  to  me  that 
possibly  a  gentleman  ought  to  apologise  even  if 
he  has" — ("unmasked  a  lady,"  to  himself) — aloud, 
after  a  momentary  halt,  "  even  if  both  sides  have 
been  at  fault.  You  know  me,  and  know  that  I 
am  not  an  ill-tempered  man  ;  but  there  are  some 
points  —  I    have    lived    much     alone  —  I    feel 

deeply ;  "  he  bit  his  lip. 

Selina  actually  felt  ashamed. 


CHAPTEK    III 

''IT'S    A    DAMNED    LIE" 

k  ND  she  behaved  extraordinarily  well  all  the 
evening,  in  consequence. 

There  v/as  no  time  to  think  over  what  had 
passed,  and  shape  her  conduct  accordingly ;  but 
she  had  a  palpitating  sense  of  having  been  caught 
and  caged — and  again  set  free. 

The  whole  scene  had  amazed  and  confounded 
her.  She  was  accustomed  to  Sir  Patrick  shy, 
silent,  and  distrait, — or  else  at  rare  intervals 
sociable.  Her  blood  fairly  chilled  when  he  began 
to  stamp  and  tramp  and  his  eyes  to  dart  fire. 
Fierce  as  any  savage  ancestor  he  had  unhesitatingly 
crushed  her;  then  opened  his  hand,  and  let  her 
flutter  off  bruised  and  rumpled,  but  with  no  bones 
broken.     That  was  how  she  put  it  to  herself. 

Who  would  have  thought  The  Puddock  had  it 
in  him? 

44 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  45 

She  knew  the  name,  haA^ing  learned  it  in  early 
days  when  everything  Nigel  had  to  say  was 
interesting,  and  boyish  revelations  commanded 
fondest  attention.  All  were  now  cast  out  upon 
the  rubbish  heap,  worthless,  forgotten — and  it 
was  only  in  such  a  moment  as  the  present  that 
memory  showed  it  still  lived. 

Even  as  it  was,  it  must  be  owned  that  Selina 
did  not  speak  ill-temperedly.  She  had  had  a  tussle 
with  The  Puddock,  and  come  off  the  worst,  and 
bore  the  victor  no  grudge. 

"  I  riled  him  ;  "  she  nodded  to  herself.  "  The 
poor  little  beast.  He  thought  I  was  laughing  at 
him.  I  suppose  he  really  and  truly  does  think  no 
woman  would  look  at  him.  Wonderful !  Why, 
they  would  jump  down  his  throat.  What  a 
blessed  thing  is  ignorance.  '  Where  ignorance  is 
bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  wise  ' — ha !  ha  !  ha  !  But 
The  Puddock  of  all  people  to  flare  up!"  drum- 
ming with  her  fingers  on  the  window  pane, — for 
despite  would-be  coolness,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  Mrs.  Kinellan  was  agitated,  not  to  say 
slightly  unnerved. 

Literally  she  had  not  dared  to  let  her  thoughts 
revert  to  the  scene  whilst  dressing,  and  had 
hurried  through  her  evening  toilette,  fearful  lest 


46  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

by  misadventure  she  should  be  late,  and  Sir 
Patrick  as  usual  down  before  her. 

In  consequence  she  was  very  early,  and  the 
room  was  empty.  She  could  breathe,  and  allow 
herself  a  few  flashes  of  reminiscence. 

"  Pat  was  out  of  himself  with  passion.  He 
did  not  care  what  he  said.  I  don't  fancy  he  lets 
himself  go,  once  in  a  blue  moon  ;  but  there's  no 
mistake  that  it  was  rather  earthquaky.  What  if 
he  had  gone  still  further  ?  He  might  have  for- 
bidden me  the  house."  She  turned  her  eyes 
round  upon  the  great  sun-lit  room,  with  its  many 
glimmering  window-panes,  its  screened  recesses, 
vaulted  roof,  and  solemn,  stately  furniture. 
Taking  stock  of  it  before,  she  had  concluded  to 
let  the  drawing-room  at  Kinellan  alone,  whatever 
changes  might  be  effected  elsewhere  in  the  future ; 
and  all  at  once  she  realised  what  it  would  be  to 
behold  a  possibility  of  never  standing  again  where 
she  was  standing  now. 

Good  Gracious  !  She  must  take  care  what  she 
was  about.  Another  moment  and  words  might 
have  been  spoken  which  could  not  be  recalled. 
Never  must  she  tread  on  that  thin  edge  again. 

But  as  we  have  said,  she  was  not  angry  with 
her    brother-in-law ;    she    rather    admired    him. 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  47 

"  It's  a  damned  lie,"  she  caught  herself  whis- 
pering to  herself  over  and  over  again  with  a  kind 
of  smile.  Half  as  much  from  Nigel  would  have 
driven  her  furious. 

Then  the  company  arrived,  and  just  before 
them  their  host ;  and  had  Sir  Patrick  been  in  any 
wise  a  humorist,  he  would  have  seen  something 
supremely  ludicrous  in  the  meekness  of  his  sister- 
in-law  beneath  his  supposed  eye. 

As  a  fact,  he  did  look  towards  her  once  or 
twice,  half  expecting  to  be  annoyed  by  the  cool- 
ness of  her  manner,  or  by  the  supercilious  airs 
which  no  one  could  put  on  better  than  Selina— 
but  he  was  not  in  a  frowning  or  compelling  mood. 
Indeed,  although  he  was  relieved,  relieved  of  an 
oppression  which  had  been  gathering  weight 
within  his  bosom  for  some  time  past,  he  was  half 
ashamed  ;  any  sort  of  exposure  was  terrible  to 
him ;  and  the  phrase  which  she  could  not  rid 
herself  of,  rang  in  his  ears  also,  with  a  different 
effect.     She  thought  it  sounded  well — he,  ill. 

At  any  rate  the  words  had  been  spoken  and 
could  not  be  unspoken.  He  had  betrayed  himself 
on  a  point  as  to  which  hitherto  strict  reticence 
had  been  his  shield  and  defence ;  and  he  was 
shrewd  enougK  to  perceive  that  there  must  be  no 


48  SIR   PATEICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

drawing  back,  no  apology.  That  would  simply 
put  the  halter  on  his  neck  again  ;  and  albeit  it 
had  been  torn  off  with  pain,  it  was  off,  thank 
Goodness  ! 

He  had  shewn  he  would  stand  no  nonsense. 
He  wished  he  had  not  been  made  to  show  it,  but 
wishing  would  not  mend  matters. 

Heigho ! 

A  sigh  escaped  as  Sir  Patrick  drew  himself 
inch  by  inch  into  his  shell  again.  It  was  fine  to 
be  out  of  it,  if  only  for  a  few  brief  moments. 
That  breath  of  fresh  air  when  he  cared  not  for 
pope  nor  devil,  and  metaphorically  wrung  Selina's 
nose,  was  a  glorious  breath.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  drawing  off  his  thick,  heavy  boots,  and 
cogitated,  holding  one  in  his  hand. 

If  only  he  could  have  liked,  not  to  say  loved 
Nigel's  wife ! 

There  were  so  many  things  he  could  have  said 
to  her ;  so  much  she  could  have  told  him. 

He  never  got  near  a  woman.  His  own  mother 
had  held  him  at  arm's  length.  As  for  men  ?  He 
had  not  managed  to  make  friends  among  men. 
In  old  days,  when  they  came  to  Kinellan,  it  was 
Nigel  they  took  to ;  going  off  with  the  younger, 
merrier   lad,    and    bidding    '  Good-night '    to   the 


"IT'S  A  DAMNED  LIE"  49 

taciturn  brother  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair- 
case. 

They  had  no  idea  that  The  Puddock  looked 
wistfuUy  after  them.  He  would  not  for  worlds 
have  offered  his  company ;  and  even  Nigel  fancied 
him  a  queer  fellow  who  preferred  to  be  alone. 

Nigel  sought  out  his  brother  now ;  understood 
him  better  than  he  ever  did  before ;  would  con- 
tentedly tramp  miles  by  his  side  without  the 
interchange  of  a  syllable ; — but  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  with  all  the  increase  of  affection 
and  comprehension,  the  reserve  of  a  lifetime 
could  be  broken  down. 

Besides  it  was  a  racial  reserve.  It  was  the 
crust  of  ages.  Nigel's  free,  jocular  manner  was 
often  only  assumed  at  the  last  moment  when 
escape  was  impossible  ;  and  the  Kinellan  bashful- 
ness  would  not  infrequently  re-assert  itself  under 
most  inconvenient  circumstances. 

With  Sir  Patrick,  however,  as  with  his  sister- 
in-law,  time  pressed  ;  and  though  he  must  needs 
halt  involuntarily  boot  in  hand,  with  the  culmi- 
nating point  of  the  scene  before  his  eyes,  and  his 
own  most  strange  and  unusual  voice  thundering 
in  his  ears,  soon  he  had  to  be  scurrying  on  again. 
He   had   but   just   reached   the    turn  of  the    big 

5 


50  SIR   PATRICK:   THE    PUDDOCK 

staircase  when  the  Mercer's  carriage  crashed  first 
to  the  door. 

And  for  some  minutes  after  entering  he  dared 
not  look  beyond  the  portly  presence  of  the 
millionaire's  wife.  So  certain  was  he  that  Selina 
would  be  sulky  and  vindictive  once  out  of  his 
clutches,  that  at  the  sound  of  her  silvery  tones, 
sweeter  than  sweet,  here,  there  and  everywhere 
playing  the  hostess,  he  glanced  round  in  surprise. 

So,  so?  Nothing  was  to  be  feared  then?  He 
despised  Selina  more  than  ever,  and  felt  more 
than  ever  convinced  that  it  was  she  who  had 
set  a-going  a  certain  rumour  which  had  come  to 
his  ears.  Had  she  been  innocent,  he  argued,  she 
would  not  have  taken  what  he  said  as  she  did. 

By  all  means  however,  let  things  be  smooth 
on  the  surface.  He  was  at  one  with  his  enemy 
as  to  that ;  and  the  cheerful  buzz  in  the  great 
room  sounded  pleasantly  enough  in  his  ears. 
When  alone  he  never  came  into  the  drawing- 
room.  When  up  in  Town,  elbowing  his  way 
among  crowds,  he  would  have  an  odd  sensation, 
thinking  of  the  calm  depths  and  unbroken  still- 
ness of  that  ancient  abode.  It  was  only  when 
Selina  came  that  it  was  used. 

But  how  well  it  looked,  bright,  and  gay — the 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  51 

setting  sun  lighting  up  the  pretty  dresses  of  the 
ladies  with  his  last  rays  of  splendour.  The  guests 
clustered  in  the  windows  to  admire  the  glories 
without.  Sir  Patrick,  who  often  looked  without, 
on  this  occasion  contentedly  surveyed  the  scene 
within. 

He  was  glad,  certainly  he  was  now  glad  that 
Losca  Castle  had  been  built.  Now  that  he  knew 
his  neighbours,  and  was  no  longer  overpowered  by 
the  thought  of  them. 

At  first,  and  before  meeting  with  Mr.  Mercer, 
the  knowledge  that  a  self-made  man,  reeking  of 
money,  was  about  to  plant  himself  four  miles 
off — no  great  distance  in  those  parts — had 
embittered  every  waking  hour.  He  who  had 
been  left  so  long  in  peace  was  to  have  peace  no 
longer.  Every  kind  of  nightmare  had  presented 
itself  to  his  imagination. 

And  these  were  only  half  dispelled  by  acquaint- 
ance with  good  old  Jonathan,  for  there  was  still 
Mrs.  Jo  to  be  reckoned  with. 

When  Mrs.  Jo,  however,  proved  to  be  if  any- 
thing the  better  half  of  the  two  as  in  duty  bound. 
The  Puddock  had  experienced  a  rebound  of 
spirits  which  took  him  out  of  himself  altogether. 
He  now  actually  regarded  the  Mercers  as  acquisi- 


52  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

tions,  and  the  giving  of  his  first  dinner-party  in 
their  honour  as  a  pleasurable  event. 

Nigel,  standing  near  the  door,  handsome,  neg- 
ligent, and  truth  to  tell  bored  consumedly  by  the 
whole  affair,  looked  in  unfeigned  surprise  at  his 
brother,  as  head  well  up,  talking  and  laughing, 
Sir  Patrick  gallantly  led  his  lady  out,  and  albeit 
not  so  tall  as  she,  looked  by  no  means  amiss  at 
her  side. 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Pat — the  old  fellow  doesn't 
look  half  bad,"  pronounced  the  swell  colonel, 
with  an  emotion  that  was  almost  one  of  ten- 
derness. 

Then  he  woke  up  and  shook  himself  together. 
If  that  were  to  be  the  way  of  it,  he  would  take 
the  hint.  He  would  back  up  old  Pat  to  the  best 
of  his  power ;  and  away  he  went  with  his  lady, 
prepared  to  put  his  best  foot  forward.  The 
success  of  the  evening  was  by  this  last  touch 
assured. 

In  regard  to  its  material  part,  the  worst  that 
could  have  been  said  was  that  solid  excellence 
and  old-fashioned  taste  prevailed ;  and  Selina, 
who  at  another  time  might  have  curled  her  lip  at 
the  heavy  stacks  of  flowers,  which  took  the  place 
of  the  lighter  and  more  elegant  table  decorations 


"IT'S  A   DAMNED   LIE"  53 

to  which  she  was  accustomed,  found  herself  to 
her  surprise  disposed  to  think  it  all  in  keeping. 
Old-fashionedness  would  never  do  for  herself,  but 
"  Upon  my  word,"  reflected  she,  "  there  is  some- 
thing rather  splendid  about  The  Puddock  in  the 
midst  of  his  antiquities.  A  new  setting  would 
spoil  him." 

Out  of  Sir  Patrick's  sight  she  did  indeed  relapse 
to  a  certain  extent.  AVith  the  retreat  of  the 
ladies  it  became  her  bounden  duty  to  impress 
upon  them  their  inferiority,  to  drawl  and  yawn, 
and  finally  glide  through  the  gallery  door  a,nd 
lounge  away  by  herself  upon  the  terrace,  leaving 
good  Mrs.  Mercer  fast  anchored  to  the  sofa 
corner,  and  the  younger  visitors  drifting  aimlessly 
to  and  fro — while  only  Sophy  Gill  poked  a  brisk, 
inquisitive  nose  about — but  Mrs.  Kinellan  was 
back  in  her  proper  place  before  her  host  made  his 
reappearance. 

"  Selina,  do  you  think  we  might  hope  for  a 
little  music?  "  But  though  Sir  Patrick  with  his 
own  hands  opened  the  piano  and  looked  interro- 
gatively round,  the  music  was  not  forthcoming. 

"  People  only  sing  now  when  they  are  really 
good,"  whispered  Selina,  confidentially. 

"  What  shall  Vv^e  have,  then?  "  said  he. 


54  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"A  round  game,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"Oh,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  blankly.  ("What  on 
earth  is  '  A  round  game '  ?  "  said  he,  to  himself.) 

He  was  ready,  however,  to  do  whatever  was  in 
accordance  with  the  general  inclination,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  about  the  alacrity  with  which  the 
new  suggestion  was  met. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  he  formally  thanked 
Selina  for  having  contributed  so  largely  to  its 
success,  and  kept  to  himself  his  opinion  of  her 
game. 

It  did  its  part ;  made  laughter  and  noise,  and 
kept  every  one  going ;  she  was  right  to  have  it. 
As  to  the  music,  she  was  right  too.  If  it  were  not 
good,  good  of  its  kind  that  was  to  say,  he  pre- 
ferred none.  He  simply  could  not  endure  preten- 
tious mediocrity. 

Still,  Sir  Patrick  breathed  a  quiet  sigh  as  he 
shut  the  piano  when  all  had  gone.  He  wondered 
if  he  should  ever  hear  a  really  beautiful  woman's 
voice  filling  those  walls  again  ?  In  his  youth  he 
remembered  such  an  one.  It  was  when  he  was 
an  awkward  school-boy,  who  would  have  shrunk 
in  agony  before  the  idea  of  any  one's  knowing  the 
rapture  it  gave  him — but  he  had  never  forgotten 
it.     When  inviting  the  Mercers,  the  thought  had 


"IT'S  A   DAMNED   LIE"  55 

passed  through  his  mind  that  some  of  his  guests 
might  prove  to  be  musical. 

After  this  there  were  of  course  return  civiHties, 
and  entertainments  at  Losca  Castle  on  a  scale 
which  Selina  had  she  dared  would  have  termed 
'vulgar  magnificence.'  Being  determined  to  go 
to  them,  she  held  her  tongue.  Had  she  given  it 
rein,  cart-ropes  would  not  have  dragged  Sir  Patrick 
thither.     He  was  straightforwardness  itself. 

The  sly  little  cat,  however,  indemnified  herself 
behind  his  back  ;  and  though  it  was  impossible  to 
absolutely  cold-shoulder  the  people  who  had  been 
at  Kinellan,  and  with  whom  she  had  shrieked  and 
scrambled  over  her  game,  subsequent  relays  of 
plebeian  guests — and  it  is  to  be  feared  most  of  the 
Mercers'  guests  were  plebeian — had  the  full  bene- 
fi!t  of  Mrs.  Kinellan's  impertinence. 

There  was  one  especial  field  on  which  it  could 
have  full  play,  and  this  was  the  deck  of  Mr. 
Mercer's  steam  yacht,  the  Bravura. 

Sir  Patrick  never  joined  the  yachting  parties. 
He  liked  the  sea  when  rough ;  was  often  out  in 
wild  weather,  with  his  own  men  and  his  own  boat 
— "Aye,  he'll  be  out  many  a  day  when  he  would 
be  best  at  home,"  Selina  had  once  been  told — but 
to  be  frizzling  beneath  an  August  sun  upon  the 


56  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

glassy  surface  of  the  water  from  hour  to  hour, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  make  small  talk,  drink 
iced  champagne,  and  smoke  cigars  on  sufferance, 
was  not  to  be  endured  ;  he  thanked  Mr.  Mercer 
politely  and  accepted  invitations — for  his  friends. 

They  went,  and  they  ate  and  drank,  and  pre- 
sumably enjoyed  the  long  '  laze '  on  the  snowy 
deck,  with  a  blazing  sky  overhead  and  mirrored 
depths  on  every  side — those  were  the  days  for  the 
Bravura  to  steam  out  of  Losca  Bay,  full  charged 
with  a  merry  crew  and  gaily  tipped  with  bunting 
— but  Mrs.  Kinellan's  party  took  their  cue  from 
Mrs.  Kinellan  on  such  occasions. 

"  The  thing  is  to  show  from  the  first  that  we 
don't  mean  to  be  'in'  with  them;  "  Selina  in- 
structed, privately.  "  Of  course  we  must  go.  It 
is  simply  awfully  nice  ;  especially  just  now  when 
it  is  too  hot  to  stir  on  land, — but  they  must  under- 
stand to  let  us  alone.  The  old  couple  are  nothing 
to  mind  ;  it  is  their  friends  who  are  such  bounders." 

"  Oh,  we'll  tackle  the  bounders,"  quoth  the 
Honourable  Georges  and  Georginas. 

And  they  were  equal  to  it,  as  the  event  proved. 
If  host  or  hostess  drew  near  the  spot  where  the 
Kinellan  party  had  plumped  down  in  a  well-packed 
phalanx,  the  men   would   indeed    jump  up,  and 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE  57 

affect  a  kind  of  civility — but  the  old  people  per- 
ceiving they  were  not  wanted,  would  be  only  too 
glad  to  fall  back  upon  their  own  set,  and  take  it 
for  granted  that  Sir  Patrick's  friends  were  best 
left  to  themselves. 

At  the  close  of  the  expedition  there  would  be 
vague  murmurs  of  "  Th — anks.  Jolly  day.  Aw'fly 
good  of  you,"  as  they  severally  took  leave;  "  and 
upon  my  word,  those  were  the  only  words  I  heard 
spoken  from  first  to  last,"  exclaimed  on  one  occa- 
sion good  Mrs.  Mercer,  who  was  neither  so  blind 
nor  so  mild  as  she  looked. 

"  Jonathan,"  said  she,  next  day,  "  we'll  just  go 
to  Staffa  without  those  people."  Now  Selina  had 
set  her  heart  on  going  to  Staffa. 

But  why  should  we  linger  over  this  foolish  little 
woman,  and  her  trivialities '?  Her  like  is  known 
to  us  all ;  and  we  have  only  introduced  her  to  our 
reader's  notice  because  of  the  brief  scene  narrated 
in  the  last  chapter,  and  the  effect  it  had  upon  the 
after  life  of  our  hero.  Presently  she  was  gone ; 
her  autumn  stay  at  Kinellan  over  ;  and  her  brother- 
in-law  released. 

He  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  walked  back 
to  bis  deserted  halls,  having  seen  the  party  off  in 
due  style  by  the  south-bound  steamer  ;  he  strolled 


58  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

through  the  garden,  the  stables,  the  farm ;  he 
smoked  on  the  terrace,  sitting  on  his  favourite 
corner  stone ;  he  looked  in  at  every  window  in 
succession,  as  he  presently  walked  round  to  the 
front  door,  with  the  first  chilly  breath  of  evening. 

It  was  glorious  to  be  alone  again.  Not  to  be 
for-ever  stumbling  upon  figures  emerging  from 
their  rooms,  or  trapping  him  on  the  staircase. 

Often  he  had  to  go  where  he  did  not  in  the  least 
want  to  go,  because  some  one  else  was  going  in 
his  original  direction.  He  would  have  to  dive  into 
the  library  or  gun-room,  in  order  to  avoid  some 
friend  of  Selina's  who,  equally  alarmed,  showed 
himself  as  anxious  to  be  avoided. 

He  was  sure  Selina  told  them  to  get  out  of  his 
way.  This  made  matters  worse.  They  did  not 
get ;  they  only  tried  and  failed. 

It  will  be  asked :  Why  did  he  endure  all  this, 
why  was  he  not  man  enough  to  order  his  house  as 
he  chose,  and  keep  out  of  it  people  who  were  not 
wanted  ?  The  answer  is  simple.  Sir  Patrick  was 
Sir  Patrick,  the  representative  of  his  race,  the 
lord  of  its  ancient  lands.  It  behoved  him,  whether 
he  liked  or  no,  to  keep  up  its  hospitable  tradi- 
tions. 

And  as  he  could  not,  unaided,  have  summoned 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  59 

above  a  few  isolated  relations,  or  old  college 
friends,  sadly  inadequate  to  the  demand,  when 
the  festal  season  came  round,  he  was  forced  to 
depend  upon  Selina. 

He  knew  that  from  one  point  of  view  he  was 
safe  with  Selina  ;  she  would  never  let  Kinellan 
down  by  a  too-open  door — and  indeed  to  do  her 
justice,  she  was  careful  as  to  the  status  and  reputa- 
tion of  her  guests — but  this  was  about  all  that 
could  be  said.  For  the  space  of  a  few  weeks  the 
scene  lasted  ;  the  moor  was  shot  over,  the  chimneys 
smoked,  there  was  bustle  of  servants,  the  old 
silver  dish-covers  came  out  nightly,  and  Sir 
Patrick  was  understood  to  be  holding  high  revel 
in  the  halls  of  his  ancestors. 

He  devoutly  hoped  so,  at  least ;  and  when  the 
annual  fray  was  over,  how  thankful  he  was  ! 

But  vrith  the  advent  of  the  Mercers  into  the 
neighbourhood,  there  arose  new  thought.  Kinellan 
had  done  its  duty,  and  could  once  more,  soldier- 
like, stand  at  ease, — but  how  about  Losca  Castle? 
Had  its  revellers  also  betaken  themselves  to  other 
happy  hunting  grounds  ?  That  did  not,  it  is  true, 
concern  him  ;  but  what  did  concern  him  was  that 
he  had  neighbours  to  whom  something  was  due  in 
the  shape  of  a  parting  call,  on  the  presumption 


60  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

that  they,  hke  most  others  of  their  sort,  were  only 
fair-weather  visitors  to  the  Highlands. 

They  would  be  off  soon — he  was  sure  they 
would.  What  could  a  couple  of  elderly  millionaires 
with  all  the  world  to  choose  from,  find  worth  re- 
maining for,  when  the  tide  of  tourists  and  sports- 
men had  turned  ? 

The  weather  indeed  was  fine ;  but  millionaires 
can  command  their  own  weather. 

"  They'll  be  off  directl}'',"  muttered  Sir  Patrick, 
and  sat  and  thought. 

He  had  great  ideas  as  to  what  was  due  from 
him.  His  curious,  secluded  life  led  him  to  magnify 
its  importance  in  a  manner  perfectly  reconcilable 
with  personal  modesty.  No  one  could  think  less 
of  himself  as  himself ;  but  had  he  moved  about 
the  world  more,  he  would  not,  for  instance,  have 
worried  as  he  did  over  his  call  on  Mrs.  Jonathan 
Mercer. 

He  fully  meant  to  go.     Then  he  put  off  going. 

Then  he  began  to  think  they  must  be  expecting 
him.  From  this  he  passed  to  uneasy  visions  of 
their  wondering  at  him,  talking  about  him. 
Finally  he  was  sure  they  would  meet  him  with 
cold  looks,  and  this  completed  the  sum  of  his 
misery. 


"IT'S  A   DAMNED  LIE"  61 

If  he  had  only  gone  at  first !  Gone  on  the  very 
day  that  Nigel  and  his  wife  left !  What  had  now 
the  air  of  being  a  perfunctory  business,  reluctantly 
and  grudgingly  undertaken,  would  then  have  been 
esteemed  a  voluntary  act  of  grace,  and  as  such 
welcomed. 

"  They'll  wonder  what  on  earth  now  brings  me 
at  all?  "  cried  he,  miserably.  "  Since  I  could  let 
ten  days  pass,  I  might  as  well  stay  away  altogether. 
That's  what  they'll  think,  any  way.  And  perhaps 
they  have  told  each  other  so." 

At  length  there  came  a  day  when  he  saw  the 
Losca  carriage  on  the  road,  and  dashed  into  a  nut 
wood,  and  peered  from  behind  a  clump  of  rock  till 
it  passed.  Screwing  his  eyes  to  a  small  aperture, 
he  could  perceive  two  ladies,  and  two  ladies  only, 
seated  within.  He  brushed  the  moss  from  his 
coat— for  he  had  been  leaning  over  the  mossy 
rock,  and  took  up  the  stick  he  had  laid  down. 
Then  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the  pleadings  of 
viauvais-Jionte,  and  feeling  very  much  as  if  about 
to  storm  a  breach  The  Puddock  walked  straight 
away  after  the  retreating  vehicle,  and  through  the 
great  gates  of  the  castle. 

They  were  nothing  to  him ;  neither  were  his 
rough,  country  clothes,  nor  the  fact  that  he  had  no 


62  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

cards  in  his  pocket.  Did  not  everybody  he  met 
know  he  was  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan,  and  would  not 
the  lodge-keeper's  wife  have  opened  the  gates  up- 
side down  for  him,  had  he  so  willed  it  ? 

He  even  fancied  that  she  looked  approbation, 
pleased  doubtless  that  he  should  honour  her  em- 
ployers by  bestowing  on  them  the  light  of  his 
countenance. 

'*  I'm  glad  I  came,  if  only  for  Nanny's  sake," 
reflected  he.  He  had  placed  Nanny  where  she 
was. 

Now  if  only  he  could  make  Mrs.  Mercer  under- 
stand that  he  had  been  frightfully  busy  ever  since 
he  was  alone,  and  that  the  delay  in  paying  his 
respects  was  due  to  this  cause.  "  Really  I  have 
not  had  a  moment,"  he  arranged  to  say  with 
suitable  emphasis,  thinking  of  the  two  letters 
which  had  had  to  be  written  that  very  morning, 
besides  the  number  of  things  Mr.  Wigram,  the 
factor,  had  discussed  and  taken  orders  about. 

"Oh,  I  could  not  possibly  have  come  before," 
thought  Sir  Patrick,  much  comforted  now  that 
this  solution  of  the  problem  had  presented  itself — 
(his  afternoons  having  been  absolutely  vacant  he 
had  not  hitherto  thought  of  it) — "but  I  must  be 
prepared  for  a  cool  reception  till  I  can  explain," 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  63 

subjoined  he,  tramping  steadily  after  the  footman 
who  let  him  in. 

Nor  was  he  to  be  baulked  of  his  explanation, 
even  when  met  with  outstretched  hands  and 
smiles  on  the  part  of  a  hostess  who  was  both 
surprised  and  pleased. 

Mrs.  Mercer  and  Sophy  were  having  their  tea 
together,  and  very  comfortable  they  looked,  sip- 
ping and  munching  beside  a  large  wood  fire, 
which  the-  old  lady  always  kept  alight  in  her 
drawing-room,  and  which  a  nip  in  the  September 
air  outside  rendered  a  welcome  sight. 

"  Come  in.  Sir  Patrick;  come  in.  We  are  all 
by  ourselves,  we  two.  My  husband  is  off  in  the 
yacht,  taking  the  last  of  our  visitors  as  far  as 
Oban.  They'll  catch  the  train  for  London  there. 
Sophy,  give  Sir  Patrick  some  tea." 

Sir  Patrick  took  a  chair.  "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
been  prevented  calling  before,"  began  he,  but  was 
cut  short. 

"  That  tea's  too  strong,  Sophy." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  but  I  hke  it."  If  there  was 
a  thing  he  did  like  it  was  his  tea  good.  He  now 
resumed :  "I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  call 
before " 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  you  any  way,  Sir  Patrick. 


64  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

These    cakes    are    hot;"    the   old   lady   handed 
some. 

"  As  soon  as  my  visitors  left,  I  fully  intended 
to  walk  over " 

"  But  we  have  been  away,  my  husband  and  I. 
We  went  off  for  a  week  in  the  yacht,  just  to  see 
how  we  liked  it.  We  had  beautiful  weather;" 
and  she  dilated,  but  Sir  Patrick  felt  too  much 
perturbed  to  listen.  He  could  not  get  in  his 
apology,  and  his  '  frightfully  busy,'  and  all  that 
he  had  prepared  so  carefully  for  the  occasion. 
He  turned  to  Sophy  Gill,  resolved  that  she  at 
least  should  hear  him  out. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  an  idea  crossed 
Mrs.  Mercer's  mind  : 

Sir  Patrick  and  Sophy  !     Why  not  ? 

Stranger  things  than  that  had  come  to  pass ; 
and  though  poor  Sophy,  with  nothing  particular 
to  recommend  her,  was  likely  to  be  overlooked 
when  others  were  by,  it  might  be  her  day  now, 
who  could  say  ? 

It  was  said  that  Sir  Patrick  was  not  a  marrying 
man.  That  was  neither  here  nor  there.  There 
was  not  a  breath  of  scandal  against  him,  and  no 
reason  in  the  world  why  any  girl — "  It's  that 
little  vixen,  his  brother's  wife,  that  puts  him  off," 


"  IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE  "  65 

suddenly  cried  our  shrewd  old  observer.  "  He 
sees  what  a  mess  of  it  that  handsome  brother  of 
his  has  made,  and  takes  it  for  granted  that  women 
are  all  alike.  And  of  course  he's  homely  and 
stumpy.  It  almost  seems  a  pity  that  the  fine- 
lookino-  colonel  shouldn't  be  the  baronet — but 
not  her,''  hastily  ;  "  she's  bad  enough  as  she  is, 
sprawling  about  on  the  yacht's  deck,  with  her 
wicked  little  feet  sticking  out,  to  show  them, — 
(a  great  offence) — but  maybe  if  Nigel  had  been  Sir 
Nigel  he'd  have  married  differently.  He'd  have 
got  some  really  great  lady,  as  good  and  true  as 
they  often  are,  not  a  made-up  piece  like  Selina. 
She  won't  let  Sir  Patrick  take  a  wife  if  she  can 
help  it.  Not  a  lady  visitor  at  Kinellan  that  v/as 
not  married  fast  and  firm.  And  how  she  looked 
at  those  Buckram  girls  the  day  I  took  them  there  ! 
But  Sophy  wasn't  worth  being  afraid  of.  Indeed, 
Mrs.  Kinellan?"  .  .  .  A  pause.  .  .  .  "  My  word, 
if  it  were  only  to  see  your  face  "  and  suddenly  an 
echo  of  Jonathan's  voice  a;.king  :  "  Ain't  you 
going  to  get  her  a  husband  ?  "  rose  to  his  wife's 
recollection. 

"We'll  see,"  quoth  she  now,  oracularly. 

When  she  awoke  from  her  reverie,  Sir  Patrick 
and  Sophy  were  in  full  talk. 

6 


66  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"They  wouldn't  be  much  to  look  at,"  thought 
Mrs.  Mercer,  with  whom  naturally,  looks  went  a 
long  way,  "  he's  plain  and  she's  plain,  and  one 
wouldn't  be  able  to  cast  a  stone  at  the  other. 
But  Sophy's  a  strong,  cheerful  lass,  and  she 
could  rough  it  down  here  in  the  winter  as  well  as 
anybody.  Kinellan  House,  winter  or  no  winter, 
would  be  luxury  compared  with  what  poor  Sophy's 
accustomed  to.  Well,  she's  a  lady  by  birth — 
anyhow  her  father  is  a  gentleman,  and  an  Oxford 
man  ;  and  her  mother  so — so.  As  good  as  the 
most  of  us.  No  one  could  say  it  was  a  low 
marriage — though  there's  one  who  would  say  it 
if  she  could,  no  doubt.  Sophy  wouldn't  need  to 
mind.  She's  not  thin-skinned,  that's  one  comfort. 
She  can  stand  a  good  deal  when  her  bread  and 
cheese  is  in  question ;  all  the  Gills  can.  Dear 
me  !  what  a  lift  it  would  be  to  them.  One  or 
other  could  always  be  stopping  at  Kinellan ;  and 
the  girls  could  wear  Sophy's  old  clothes " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  I'll  bring  it  here  for  you  to 
see,"  said  Sophy,  at  the  moment. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Mercer. 

"  It's  my  handline,  the  handline  uncle  Jona- 
than gave  me" — "Uncle  Jonathan"  had  been 
instituted  since  Sophy  became  one  of  the  family 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  67 

as  it  were,  "  It's  all  in  a  muddle,"  protested  she, 
"  and  I  have  been  hours  over  it  this  morning, 
trying  to  wind  it,  so  that  it  shall  run  out  smoothly. 
It's  all  over  the  floor  in  the  next  room." 

"I  am  going  to  show  her  how  to  do  it," 
amended  Sir  Patrick. 

"Very  kind.  Will  you  go  into  the  room, 
then?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  bring  it  here,"  said  Sophy,  inno- 
cently; and  after  a  moment's  thought  the  old 
lady  nodded  assent.  She  told  herself  that  she 
must  not  go  too  fast. 

When  however  she  presently  beheld  the  two 

heads  bent  together  over  the  tangled  skein,  and 

the  two  sets  of  fingers  twisting  and  turning  and 

unravelling,  while  the  one  dictated  and  the  other 

obeyed,  she  felt  very  much  as  if  she  could  have 

apostrophised  them  in  Meg  Merrilees'  memorable 

song  : 

"  Twist  ye,  twine  ye,  even  so 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe." 

"  What  is  it  to  be  ?  Bliss  or  no  bliss  ?  "  whis- 
pered she,  to  herself.  "  At  any  rate,  it's  a  chance. 
He's  here  alone,  and  she's  here  alone,  and  as  I 
say,  it's  a  chance.  We'll  not  hurry  off.  And  if 
Sophy  wants  a  warm  frock  for  the  colder  weather, 


68  SIE   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

she  can  have  it.  Jonathan  would  give  her  the 
trousseau  of  course  ;  "  she  concluded,  letting  fancy 
fly  again. 

It  certainly  appeared  as  if  matters  were  taking 
shape.  Sir  Patrick,  who  was  even  more  shy  of 
departing  than  of  arriving,  and  who  had  no  one 
waiting  for  him  at  his  own  home,  sat  on  where 
he  felt  easy  and  comfortable,  until  a  cry  from 
Sophy  brought  all  three  to  the  windows. 

"  There  she  is,  coming  in,  the  Bravura.  Let 
us  go  down  and  meet  her.  We  shall  be  just  in 
time,  and  there  will  be  such  a  lot  of  parcels  to 
carry  up." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  stayed  an  unconscionable 
time  already,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  looking  at  his 
hostess  with  a  smile — she  always  said  he  had  a 
beautiful  smile — "  but  if  I  may  escort  this  young 
lady  down  to  the  shore,  and  just  shake  hands 
with  Mr.  Mercer " 

"  He  will  be  delighted,  Sir  Patrick.  I  would 
come  myself,  but  it  is  a  steep  climb  back,  and  I 
am  forbidden  to  hurry " 

"  We  shan't  be  in  time  unless  we  go  now," 
shouted  Sophy,  for  whom  the  said  parcels  had  a 
special  interest.  She  was  half  out  of  the  door 
as  she  spoke. 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  69 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Mercer, 
almost  afraid  of  so  much  good  kick.  "  To  see  the 
yacht  coming,  and  just  in  the  nick  of  time  !  And 
to  ask  him  to  go — as  good  as  ask  him — so  frankly 
and  naturally !  It  really  does  lo®k — it  seems 
almost  too  good  to  be  true.  The  poor  Gills.  No 
one  will  believe  it.  Of  course  Sir  Patrick  ought 
to  have  looked  higher  :  I  can't  deny  that  a 
marriage  with  them  is  hardly  up  to  his  mark ; 
but  then  he  wouldnt  look.  And  that's  his  own 
business.  He  is  pretty  nearly  forty  years  of  age, 
so  it's  no  use  hanging  back  and  being  too  humble. 
If  Sophy  can  catch  him,  she  has  a  perfect  right 
to,  say  I." 

She  then  rose  and  looked  from  the  window. 

"  There  they  go,  running  down  as  hard  as  ever 
they  can.  Dear  me  !  there's  no  need  to  run  like 
that ;  "  softly  apostrophising  under  her  breath, 
"  what  does  it  matter  if  the  boat  should  get  in 
first?  Jonathan  can't  help  seeing  them,  and  he 
can't  escape  them,  for  there's  no  other  way  up. 
There,  he's  at  the  landing  place  now  ;  "  straining 
her  eyes. 

And  presently  she  had  no  need  to  strain  them. 
Up  the  steep,  rocky  path  three  figures  were  seen 
ascending,    slowly    enough    this    time ;    and    Sir 


70  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Patrick  re-entered  the  house  along  with  the  other 
two, 

"  Good-bye,  then,  and  we'll  see  you  at  dinner 
to-morrow  night;"  were  the  final  words  spoken 
ere  the  sturdy  little  baronet  stumped  away — 
while  Mrs.  Mercer  felt  anew  that  it  was  '  almost 
too  good  to  be  true.' 

The  next  night  in  good  time  the  guest  appeared. 

Indeed  he  was  in  such  good  time  that  only 
Sophy  was  down  to  keep  him  company  for  fully 
twenty  minutes  ere  any  one  else  appeared.  Mr. 
Mercer  had  received  business  letters  by  the  second 
post  which  needed  immediate  attention,  and  Mrs. 
Mercer  cognisant  of  this,  saw  no  need  for  hurry- 
ing herself.  "  Give  Sophy  a  chance,"  said  she  to 
herself.  The  sound  of  a  lively  conversation  going 
on  between  the  two  young  people — as  she  termed 
them — struck  hopefully  upon  her  ear,  as  she 
opened  the  door  at  last ;  and  there  they  were  sure 
enough,  seated  in  the  window  of  the  little  room 
supposed  to  be  large  enough  for  four  people,  to 
which  Sir  Patrick  had  been  conducted. 

Now  let  us  see  how  Sir  Patrick  was  feeling. 

"  This  is  a  very  nice  girl,"  thought  he.  "  No 
nonsense  about  her.  She  is  dehghted  to  remain 
at  Losca  as  long  as  ever  the  Mercers  like  to  stay. 


"IT'S  A   DAMNED   LIE"  71 

Rather  wonderful,  that.  I  thought  all  girls  were 
the  same,  tired  of  the  country  the  moment  it 
became  dull.  Selina  says  so.  And  probably  it  is 
true  enough  of  the  girls  she  knows.  This  one 
seems  of  another  sort." 

Particularly  sick  of  Selina  as  he  was  at  the 
moment,  there  was  refreshment  in  the  very 
thought,  and  without  any  ulterior  design,  Sir 
Patrick  made  himself  agreeable  with  an  ease  and 
freedom  that  surprised  himself. 

On  his  own  ground  he  had  plenty  to  talk  about. 
He  could  recount  an  anecdote  with  humour,  and 
appreciate  the  humour  of  others.  He  waxed 
actually  garrulous  at  last,  and  was  vividly  re- 
counting an  adventure  which  had  never  before 
found  an  auditor — Selina's  friends  caring  for  none 
of  these  things — when  his  hostess  appeared. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Mercer,"  cried  Sophy,  "  you  never 
heard  anything  like  this.  Do  tell  her  what  you 
did,  Sir  Patrick,"  turning  to  him,  "  Slept  all 
night  on  the  rock ! " — turning  again  to  her. 
"  The  rock,  you  know,  in  the  middle  of  the  loch. 
Do  tell  her ;  "  urging  him  on. 

Sir  Patrick  laughed. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Mercer. 

Altogether  they  were  a  simple  little  party,  and 


72  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

even  when  it  was  completed  by  the  arrival  of  good 
Jonathan,  breathless  and  apologetic,  there  was 
still  no  one  to  be  stiff  and  shy  and  formal  with. 
Jonathan  bundled  them  in  to  dinner  post-haste, 
and  that  feat  accomplished,  was  ready  to  talk  and 
laugh  with  anybody. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  would  come  and  dine  with 
me  ?  "  said  Sir  Patrick,  at  the  close  of  the  evening 
"  I  am  all  alone  over  there,  and  it  would  be  a 
great  kindness.     Any  night  ?  " 

A  night  was  fixed. 

"Now,  Sophy,  put  on  your  pink  frock,"  said 
Mrs.  Mercer,  coming  into  her  young  friend's 
room  at  dressing  time.  "  You  may  as  well,  my 
dear,  for  there  won't  be  many  more  opportunities." 

"  Won't  this  do?  "  said  Sophy,  doubtfully.  She 
had  got  out  a  muslin  blouse  and  a  dark  skirt,  in 
her  own  mind  saving  the  pink  which  was  her 
best,  and  even  the  white  which  was  her  second 
best,  for  future  use. 

"Dear  me,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  almost 
crossly.  "You  can't  dine  at  Kinellan  House  in 
that  sort  of — good  enough  for  home  evenings,  my 
dear,  but  not  the  dress  to  dine  out  in ;  "  emphati- 
cally. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Sophy. 


"IT'S   A   DAMNED   LIE"  73 

That  was  the  best  of  Sophy,  she  was  always 
ready  with  her  "Oh,  very  well"  even  when 
acquiescence  went  against  the  grain ;  and  though 
in  her  heart  she  thought  it  nothing  less  than  folly 
and  waste  to  attire  herself  smartly  for  one  man, 
and  him  a  man  who  never  saw  what  a  girl  had 
on,  she  cheerfully  dressed — to  please  Mrs.  Mercer. 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  old  lady,  approvingly. 
"  You  may  trust  me  to  know  what  is  done  at 
great  houses,  Sophy  ;  of  course  you  can't  " — (with 
swift,  mental  reference  to  'the  poor  Gills')  — 
"  but  young  girls  Vv'oukl  do  a  great  deal  better  than 
they  do  do,  if  they  would  now  and  then  suppose 
older  people  knew  about  things.  Sir  Patrick  is 
accustomed  to  Mrs.  Kinellan's  smart  friends  ; 
you  don't  want  him  to  think  you  a  dowdy?" 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  ashamed  of  me." 

"  AVhy — aye — yes — of  course."  Mrs.  Mercer 
felt  a  shade  disappointed.  "To  be  sure.  Yes  ;  " 
pondering.  "  I  fancy  it's  rather  a  compliment 
his  asking  us,"  she  threw  out. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  time  we've  dined  there," 
said  Sophy,  reflectively.  "  There  was  the  first 
dinner,  when  it  was  daylight,  do  you  remember? 
We  all  sat  down  by  dayhght,  and  it  got  dark,  but 
Sir  Patrick  wouldn't  have  the  lights  in.     Then 


74  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

the  next  night  they  had  to  come  in,  in  the  middle 
of  dinner.  And  the  last  time  was  the  farewell — 
at  least  it  wasn't,  but  we  all  thought  it  was.  I 
never  expected  we  should  be  going  there  again." 

"  No  more  did  I.  And  I  daresay  this  won't  be 
the  last  time  either." 

"Why  doesn't  he  have  people  when  he's 
alone?"  suggested  Sophy. 

"  He's  what  they  call  a  recluse,  my  dear.  He 
told  me  himself  that  he  hardly  ever  had  company 
except  during  the  shooting  season.  You  see  he 
couldn't  ask  ladies  unless  he  had " 

"  Why,  I'm  sure  they'd  rather  be  without 
Selina,"  laughed  Sophy.  "  And  though  it  is 
very  nice  going  out  to  dinner  again,  it  would 
be  a  great  deal  nicer  if  he  had  a  houseful  of 
people.  They  needn't  be  her  kind  of  people. 
He's  jolly  enough  when  he's  by  himself :  I 
daresay  his  friends  would  be  jolly  too.  I  wish 
he'd  ask  a  lot  down." 

"  You  stupid  girl  !  "  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  to 
herself. 

As  it  was  evident  that  Sophy  was  not  only 
stupid  but  purblind,  it  behoved  her  to  stir  the 
stagnant  waters  with  a  delicate  finger.  Uncon- 
sciousness was  one    thing,  but  not  to  see  what 


"IT'S  A   DAMNED   LIE"  75 

was  a  perfectly  providential  opening  and  be  ready 
to  embrace  it,  was  another. 

After  the  evening  at  Kinellan,  during  which 
Sir  Patrick  not  only  played  the  attentive  host, 
but  almost  the  admirer  to  Mrs.  Mercer's  view, 
she  felt  she  must  say  something — and  now  at 
last  we  come  to  the  passage-at-arms  between  the 
two,  wherewith  our  little  story  opens. 

It  took  place  on  the  morning  after  Sir  Patrick's 
dinner-party. 


CHAPTER   IV 

HOBSON'S     CHOICE 

TT  is  always  an  awkward  thing  to  have  strained 
relations  between  host  and  guest,  and  in  the 
case  before  us  there  were  reasons  which  made 
anything  of  the  kind  even  more  than  usually 
so. 

Mrs.  Mercer  and  her  young  friend  were  now 
very  intimate  ;  they  were  thrown  upon  each 
other's  society  for  the  best  part  of  every  day ; 
Sophy  was  under  one  long  continued  obligation ; 
and  there  was  no  one  to  whom  either  could 
disburden  her  mind. 

"  I  can't  and  I  won't  tell  Jonathan,"  said  the 
old  lady,  decidedly. 

The  young  one  had  not  even  a  Jonathan  to 
tell. 

When   the   first    rush   of    angry    feeling    had 

76 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  77 

subsided,    the    disagreeableness,    the    discomfort 
of  the  situation  appalled  them  both. 

"  There  now,  I've  been  and  gone  and  done  it; " 
muttered  Soph}^  hurrying  out  of  doors  with  an 
idea  of  getting  away  from  the  whole  thing. 

"After  all  my  trouble!  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  when  I  came  that  I  was  to  say  '  Yes  '  to 
everything,  if  I  died  for  it.  She  didn't  care 
for  me  particularly  at  first ;  she  just  put  up  with 
me,  and  I  was  brought  as  a  charity — but  she  had 
got  to  be  quite  affectionate,  and  I  might  have  had 
the  run  of  Dove  Hall  as  I've  had  of  Losca. 
What  on  earth  possessed  me  to  fly  out  about 
The  Puddock?  What  does  he  matter?  I 
needn't  have  bothered  my  head  about  him,  and 
yet  have  kept  in  with  Mrs.  Mercer."  A  pause, 
"  She'll  never  forgive  me,  nasty  old  thing.  And 
there'll  be  the  Hunt  Ball ;  and  the  Christmas 
Ball ;  and  I  shan't  get  asked  to  either.  I  know 
she  would  have  given  me  my  frocks,  too ;  she  as 
good  as  said  she  would.  But  she's  as  mad  as  she 
can  be  with  me  now,  because  I  won't  marry  an 
old  man  and  bury  myself  at  his  old  hole,  and — 
and — I  suppose  she  thinks  he's  good  enough  for 
we;" — tears  of  vexation  springing  to  her  eyes. 
"  Just  because  I'm  poor;  " — kicking  the  pebbles 


78  SIE   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

of  the  shore  first  with  one  foot,  then  with 
another.  "  Anybody's  good  enough  for  me," 
pursued  Miss  Sophy,  bitterly,  "  that's  Mrs. 
Mercer's  idea.  '  Aunt  Louisa  '  indeed  !  I 
shall  always  call  her  '  Mrs.  Mercer '  to  rnyself. 
And  it  v/ould  be  a  fine  thing  for  me  to  be  taken 
off  her  hands,  and  for  her  still  to  be  '  aunt 
Louisa  '  to  Lady  Kinellan.  Lady  Kinellan  !  " 
Another  pause.  "  If  only  he  had  been  j'oung 
and  handsome  and  splendid,"  cried  Sophy,  with 
a  groan,  "  wouldn't  I  have  gone  in  for  him  then  ? 
He  would  have  come  riding  over  here  every  day, 
galloping,  and  looking  up  at  the  windows  to  see 
if  I  was  leaning  out — and  I  would  have  sailed 
in  his  boat — and  we  would  have  wandered  over 
the  moors — Oh,  it's  too  bad,  it's  too  bad — Sir 
Patrick  might  just  as  well  have  been  a  man  one 
could  fall  in  love  with,  instead  of  a  stupid  old 
Puddock."  Bang  went  a  whole  shower  of  pebbles. 
"Looking  for  shells,  Miss  Sophy?"  said  a 
pleasant  voice  overhead.  Sir  Patrick  had  never 
heard  her  called  anything  but  '  Sophy '  and 
could  not  have  supplied  a  surname  had  he  been 
asked.  He  was,  however,  old-fashioned,  and 
Miss  Sophy  did  very  well  for  him.  He  was 
now  looking    down  from   an   overhanging  rock, 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  79 

and  perceiving  that  the  young  lady  thought 
herself  alone,  felt  he  ought  to  make  his  presence 
known. 

"  How  d'3'e  do  ?   Yes,  I  am  looking  for  shells  ;  " 
Sophy  looked  up  and  nodded  back. 

"Found  any  good  ones?"  said  Sir  Patrick, 
scrambling  down  to  her  side.  "  I  am  afraid  it 
is  too  early  in  the  season,  but  after  a  good  storm 
there  are  often  first-rate  shells  all  along  our 
coasts.     And  have  you  tried  the  sand?" 

"  The  sand  ?  "  said  Sophy,  bewildered. 

Sir  Patrick  laughed. 

"  I  daresay  you  never  looked  at  it?  Or  at  any 
rate,  into  it.  Well,  I  don't  know  about  this  side 
of  the  island,  but  over  at  Kinellan  there  are  some 
little  bays  where  the  sand  shines,  and  if  you  take 
up  a  handful,  you  have  simply  grasped  thousands 
of  minute  shells,  some  of  them  so  small  that  they 
can  only  be  seen  through  the  microscope.  I  have 
them  sifted  out  in  different  drawers.  I  must 
'show  you  my  collection." 

"Oh,"  said  she,  indifferently.  For  a  girl  who 
was  seeking  for  shells  she  was  curiously  indif- 
ferent. 

"What  have  you  got?"  inquired  Sir  Patrick, 
who  was  in  a  chatty  humour. 


80  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

She  had  got  nothing. 

"  I  was  afraid  it  v/as  too  early,  and  the  weather 
has  been  too  fine.  You  see  it  needs  a  good 
rousing  Vvdnd  to  throw  up  the  weed,  and  give  a 
general  stir  round.    I  always  go  out  after  a  wind." 

"Were  you  coming  to  call  at  Losca?"  suddenly 
inquired  Sophy ;  an  idea  had  occurred  to  her. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  there,  but  I  saw  you, 
and " 

("  And  came  after  me  !  ")  But  she  governed 
herself.    She  must  not  play  the  fool  a  second  time. 

"I  suppose  you  saw  me  from  the  turn  of  the 
road?"  she  said;  "whenever  we  have  been  out, 
I  always  expect  to  see  some  one  or  something 
as  soon  as  we  reach  that  turn  on  our  way 
home." 

"And  what  a  glorious  view  you  get  from  it," 
cried  Sir  Patrick,  who  was  a  lover  of  Nature,  and 
knew  every  point  and  headland  and  far-reaching 
mountain  range  upon  which  his  eye  now  rested  ; 
knew  them  and  studied  them  in  all  their  aspects. 
"Look  at  that  bar  of  light  between  us  and  the 
dark  beyond.  Isn't  that  fine?  Aren't  scenes 
like  these  worth  living  among  ?  Pid  you  see 
the  sunset  last  night  ?  " 

"  N — no.     I  don't  think  so." 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  81 

"No,  by-the-way,  you  are  the  wrong  side  for 
sunsets.  You  would  only  see  the  reflection  on 
the  hill-tops.  But  it  was  a  sight."  He  mused, 
seeing  it  over  again.  "  There  was  not  a  ripple, 
and  the  herring  boats  were  all  lying  this  way  and 
that,  their  sails  drying.  And  the  blue  threads  of 
smoke  curling  up  —  I  suppose  the  men  were 
cooking  their  suppers  —  every  single  puff  was 
reflected.     And  such  a  sky  !  " 

("  A  sky  !  ")  Sophy  had  never  looked  at  a  sky 
in  her  life. 

She  felt  bored  and  contemptuous,  but  prudence 
prevailed.  She  looked  at  Sir  Patrick,  and  then 
on  the  ground,  and  the  devil  entered  into  her 
heart.  It  is  not  only  into  the  hearts  of  the 
powdered  and  painted  denizens  of  the  world  that 
the  devil  enters. 

"  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  lovely,"  re- 
sponded she,  "  — and  what  a  pity  that  we  missed 
it.  Do  you — do  you  know  beforehand  when  there 
is  going  to  be  a  good  sunset  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  we  do,  and  sometimes  we  don't," 

said  he.      "For  instance,  to-night "  and  he 

cocked  his  eye. 

"You  couldn't  come  over  and  tell  us?"  said 
Sophy,  demurely. 

7 


82  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"I  am  afraid  it  would  not  be  much  good  if  I 
did."  Sir  Patrick  wondered  a  little.  But  it  was 
a  girl,  a  young  girl,  and  an  unsophisticated  young 
girl  talking  ;  he  reflected  that  such  beings  were 
privileged. 

"At  any  rate  we  shall  know  that  you  are  enjoy- 
ing it ; "  and  she  turned  her  innocent  eyes  upon  him. 

"You  have  the  sunrise,  you  know,"  said  he. 
"  And  from  Kinellan  we  see  nothing  of  that. 
We  are  shut  off  by  the  same  big  mountains  that 
shut  off  the  sunset  from  you.  Turn  and  turn 
about  is  fair  play.  Miss  Sophy,"  smiling. 

"  I  think  your  side  of  the  island  is  so  much  the 
prettier." 

So  did  Sir  Patrick  ;  but  he  was  nothing  if  not 
courteous.  "  Losca  is  more  conveniently  placed, 
and  no  doubt  Mr.  Mercer  took  that  into  account. 
There  is  no  anchorage  for  a  yacht  with  us.  And 
you  would  find  it  very  dull  without  the  steamers 
coming  and  going  beneath  your  windows.  Think 
of  the  post  and  telegraph  office  too,  at  your  very 
lodge  gates." 

("  My  lodge  gates !  How  delicious  it  sounds. 
He  is  very  easy  to  talk  to.")  Aloud:  "  I  don't  care 
much  about  posts  and  telegraphs.  They  never 
bring  anything  interesting  for  me."   • 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  83 

"  Not  from  your  people  at  home  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  from  my  people  at  home,  of  course." 
She  saw  her  mistake ;  it  would  never  do  to  be 
thought  wanting  in  family  affection,  "  But  their 
letters  always  come  by  the  morning  post,"  said 
she,  readily.  "  And  you  have  that  as  early  as  we 
have." 

"  Not  quite.     About  an  hour  later." 

"Well,  I  could  wait  that  hour,"  said  Sophy, 
laughing. 

Any  one  but  Sir  Patrick  would  have  seen  what 
she  was  aiming  at,  but  Sir  Patrick  never  saw 
such  things.  Never  at  least  in  the  young.  Had 
it  indeed  been  Sophy's  patroness  who  thus 
openly  flattered  and  insinuated,  he  might  have 
been  on  his  guard — Selina's  image  with  warning 
finger  upraised,  would  have  risen  to  view — but 
this  frank,  guileless  damsel  ?  No,  no.  He  was 
only  amused  with  her. 

•  He  noticed  too  that  as  they  approached  the 
castle  her  step  quickened,  it  was  a  hurrying  step 
at  last.  "  She  is  afraid  of  a  scolding;"  thought 
he.  He  little  knew  that  she  was  only  panting  to 
exhibit  her  prize,  and  that  fast  as  she  sped  along, 
imagination  flew  on  wings  before  her. 

("  Mrs.  Mercer  will  forgive  me  all.     She  will 


84  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

fancy  I  have  thought  better  of  it.  There  will  be 
no  more  cool  looks.  How  could  I  be  such  a 
silly  ?  It  will  be  a  thousand  times  better  to  let 
things  be  pleasant,  and  see  what  turns  up.  He 
may  never  come  to  the  scratch ;  or  if  he  does  I 
can  hum  and  haw  till  I  get  safe  away  out  of  the 
place.  Anyhow  I  shan't  have  to  sit  for  hours 
with  that  woman  scowling  at  me,  and  not  a  soul 
to  pour  out  to.  Oh  !  what  a  blessing  that  The 
Puddock  turned  up  like  this.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
minded  him  a  bit  to-day.") 

"  Jonathan,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  from  the 
window.  Jonathan  was  below  among  the  flower- 
beds. 

"Come  up  Jonathan;  quick,"  said  his  wife, 
and  disappeared.  When  he  had  obeyed  her 
summons  she  seized  him  by  the  coat  with  both 
hands.  "  Now,  Jonathan,  listen  to  me  and  don't 
be  stupid.  Here's  Sir  Patrick  coming  in  with 
Sophy  Gill.  Now,  don't  you  say  a  single  word 
about  it.  If  you  do,  that  girl  will  fly  off  at  a 
tangent  as  sure  as  fate.  Now,  Jonathan,  do  you 
hear  me'?  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  of  you  ;  "  shaking 
him  vigorously,  "  you're  so  outspoken  ;  and  unless 
you  give  me  your  promise  that  you'll  be 
mum " 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  85 

"  What's  all  this  about  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  you  men  !  "  Mrs.  Mercer  was  suffering 
from  re-kindled  excitement.  "  '  What's  all  this 
about '  indeed  ?  Am  I  not  telling  you  what  it's 
about  ?  Sir  Patrick  and  Sophy  Gill.  There  they 
are ;  coming  along  the  terrace  at  this  very 
moment." 

Jonathan  rolled  his  eyes  round.  Then  rubbed 
them.  Finally  he  looked  almost  sternly  at  the 
speaker.     "  Is  this  your  doing  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Gracious  me  !     My  doing  ?  " 

"  I  repeat,  your  doing,  Mrs.  Mercer.  For  if  it 
is " 

"  It's  no  one's  doing."  She  fell  back,  aston- 
ished.    "  It's— it's  just " 

"  Have  you  been  plotting  and  scheming  ?  " 

"  That  I  have  not." 

"  Sure,  ma'am  ?     Sure  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  call  '  plotting  and  scheming  "?  " 
feebly. 

"  Setting  them  to  meet  each  other  ;  "  he  pointed 
with  his  finger  at  the  approaching  figures  ; 
"  gigitting  us  over  there  to  dinner " 

"You  yourself  heard  him  ask  us.  And  as  for 
their  meeting  now — I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  I'd 
better  tell  it — Sophy  and  I  had  words  about  Sir 


86  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Patrick  only  an  hour  ago,  and  she  flew  out  of  the 
room.  I  merely  let  fall  a  hint  that  he — well,  I 
thought,  I  really  did,  Jonathan,  that  he  seemed 
071  the  way,  you  know — I  think  so  still,  for  that 
matter — and  I  was  so  afraid  she  might  say  some- 
thing to  put  him  off.  Of  course  he's  not  precisely 
a  lady's  man " 

"A  lady's  man!"  almost  shouted  Jonathan, 
"  she'd  be  a  lucky  lady  that  ever  got  such  a  man. 
What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  Do  jou  suppose  if 
Sir  Patrick  chose  to  marry " 

"Not  so  loud,  my  dear,  not  so  loud.  Your 
voice  does  carry  so,  Jonathan." 

"  To  even  him  to  Sophy  Gill !  "  muttered  he, 
contemptuously. 

"  But  you  said  I  was  to  get  her  a  husband." 

"  I  didn't  say  such  a  husband." 

"  Come  now,  he's  not  everybody's  bargain,  my 
dear." 

"  Not  anybody's — that's  to  say  he'll  not  let 
himself  be  bargained." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  there  are  plenty  who  would 
be  well  enough  pleased,  but  they  don't  get  the 
chance.  Now  just  see  what  a  chance  this  is.  It 
could  all  be  managed  so  snugly  and  quietly " 

"  Bless  my  soul,  woman,  what  are  you  thinking 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  87 

of '?    Snugly  !     Quietly  !    You  speak  as  if  we  were 
to  entrap  Sir  Patrick " 

"No,  no;  Jonathan.  No  indeed,  Jonathan; 
you  are  too  hasty.  All  I  meant  was  that  of  course 
if  there  were  other  and  prettier  girls  about,  Sophy 
is  perhaps  hardly  the  one  to  be  picked  out ;  but 
when  there's  nobody  else " 

"It's  Hobson's  Choice,  is  it?"  (He  said 
*  'Obson's,'  but  no  matter.) 

"  I  do  think  you  are  cruel  to  the  poor  thing." 

"  May  be.  But  she  ought  not  to  fly  as  high  as 
Sir  Patrick  Kinellan.  It  stands  to  reason.  What 
would  he  think  if  he  saw " 

"  Sh !  Here  they  come,"  whispered  she,  and 
he  felt  a  clutch  upon  his  arm.  He  shook  it  off, 
and  turned  with  a  frown  to  greet  Sir  Patrick. 
Somehow  he  was  even  more  vexed  with  Sir 
Patrick  than  with  Sophy. 

What  was  the  man  about  to  let  the  women 
ride  rough-shod  over  him  like  this  ?  Could  he 
not  see  what  they  were  up  to?  "I  don't  like  it 
at  all,"  quoth  honest  Jonathan,  to  himself. 

By-and-by,  however,  he  smoothed  down ;  he 
really  did  not  see  that  he  need  put  himself  in  a 
pet,  after  all.  Sir  Patrick  wore  his  everyday  look 
and  manner,  while  Sophy  beneath  Mrs.  Mercer's 


88  SIK   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

eye,  made  no  more  pretty  speeches  about  Kinellan. 
There  did  not  appear  to  be  any  self-consciousness 
on  either  hand ;  and  should  it  prove  that  the  names 
of  the  pair  had  merely  been  coupled  together  by 
his  wife  in  a  hasty  moment,  he  would  forgive  her. 

It  set  him  thinking,  however. 

And  when  a  millionaire  thinks,  it  is  usually  to 
some  purpose ;  his  thoughts  do  not  drift  and 
ramble  aimlessly  about,  as  do  those  of  other  men. 
He  does  not  say  to  himself  such  and  such  a  thing 
might  be  done,  he  says  "  I'll  do  it." 

Now  Mr.  Jonathan  Mercer  had  a  niece — oh, 
don't  suppose  dear  reader,  he  was  going  to  send 
for  her  in  order  that  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan  might 
fall  down  at  Mary  Harborough's  feet,  and  say 
metaphorically  to  Sophy  Gill ;  "  Eight  about. 
Wheel.  March."  Nothing  of  the  kind  ;  but  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  get  Mary  to  Losca  all  the 
same.  "It  will  just  put  a  stop  to  this  little 
game ;  "  he  nodded  to  himself,  "  without  any 
broken  hearts  in  the  case.  '  Snugly  and  quietly  ' 
indeed!"  The  words  grated  on  his  ears.  He 
foresaw  what  he  termed  a  hole-and-corner  busi- 
ness, such  as  revolted  his  inmost  soul. 

"Not  that  she  means  it,  poor  soul,"  reflected 
he,  thinking  of  his  wife;   "it's  only  that  she's  a 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  89 

woman,  and  all  women  are  alike.  They  can't  for 
their  lives  look  at  both  sides  of  the  question. 
And  though  I  might  put  to  her  till  I  was  black  in 
the  face  that  if  a  man  wouldn't  look  at  a  girl 
unless  so  be  as  there  was  no  other  to  look  at, 
she's  not  the  girl  for  him,  that  woman  would 
just  say  "Dear  me,  Jonathan!"  (mimicking) 
"  and  go  on  inviting  Sir  Patrick  all  the  same. 
Now  I  suppose  she'd  say  I  was  a  brute,"  pursued 
he,  knitting  his  bushy  brows,  and  glancing  at  the 
trio  who,  blissfully  unconscious,  talked  and  laughed 
while  these  fateful  ruminations  were  going  on, 
"  but  old  Jonathan  isn't  going  to  stand  by  and 
see  that  sort  of  thing  go  on  under  his  nose.  This 
nose  smells  a  rat,  and  the  smell  ain't  good.  Lady 
Harborough  will  just  have  to  lend  her  precious 
Mary  to  her  vulgar  old  brother,  or  the  vulgar  old 
brother  will  know  the  reason  why.     It  ain't  often 

I  ask  the  favour  ;  but  when   I  do,  ma'am " 

Jonathan  smiled. 

He  could  put  the  screw  on  at  any  moment. 

His  sister,  who  had  married  right  up  among 
the  grandees  as  he  was  \vont  to  tell  his  friends 
in  confidential  moments,  was  a  widow  and 
mainly  supported  by  him.  Her  paltry  jointure — 
paltry  according  to  his  ideas — would  have  gone 


90  SIE    PATRICK :    THE    PUDDOCK 

but  a  very  little  way  in  the  maintenance  of  an 
ambitious  woman  with  a  beautiful  daughter  for 
whom  a  brilliant  future  was  anticipated.  She 
had  appealed  to  her  dear  and  only  brother — he 
had  never  had  so  affectionate  a  letter  from  her 
before  —  and  he  had  responded  to  her  entire 
satisfaction.  Thenceforward  he  could  command, 
where  he  had  hitherto  had  to  beseech. 

And  in  his  heart  he  was  immensely  jJroud  of 
the  Harborough  connection. 

He  could  not  help  it ;  he  despised  himself  for 
it ;  he  tried  to  think  he  would  have  been  better 
pleased  had  May — his  dear  little  pretty  flaxen- 
haired  May,  with  whom  he  used  to  play  on  the 
green  after  school  hours,  and  who  had  all  the 
boys  of  the  place  bringing  her  sweets  and  holding 
the  swing  while  she  swung — he  tried  to  think  he 
would  have  chosen  a  husband  for  her  out  of  his 
own  class  if  he  had  been  consulted ;  but  it  may  be 
doubted  if  she  as  Mrs.  Smith,  or  Mrs.  Brown 
would  have  received  the  cheques  which  filled 
Lady  Harborough's  bosom  with  thanksgiving. 

She  was  many  years  her  brother's  junior,  and 
he  was  already  well  up  the  ladder  on  the  waj^  to 
fortune,  when  Sir  Philip  came  along,  an  elderly 
man  with  an  itch  for  a  third  wife. 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  91 

"  Don't  have  him  if  you  don't  want  him  ;  "  said 
Jonathan.  But  he  was  conscious  of  being  glad 
when  she  said  she  did  want  him,  and  meant  to 
have  him. 

What  was  more,  the  brother  always  maintained 
that  the  sister  had  chosen  wisely.  She  knew  her 
own  mind,  he  said,  and  was  not  as  soft-hearted 
as  she  looked.  He  fancied  that  if  she  had  settled 
down  with  '  Dick,  Tom,  or  Harry,'  the  fellows 
of  her  youth,  she  would  have  repented  it.  She 
was  always  full  of  ideas. 

Even  to  himself,  good  old  Jonathan  scarcely 
liked  to  acknowledge  that  had  he  been  less 
wealthy  and  liberal,  his  footing  at  Harborough 
Chase  would  not  have  been  by  any  means  what 
it  was.  "  She  is  fond  of  her  old  brother,"  he 
would  say  rather  doubtfully.  "May  ain't  what 
you  call  a  tender  feeling  woman,  but  she  is  fond 
of  her  old  brother." 

He  stood  godfather  to  May's  only  child  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The  little  one  was  taught  to 
toddle  to  his  knee,  and  peer  in  the  pockets  of  his 
great-coat,  where  it  always  found  something. 
"Your  uncle  is  really  too  good  to  you;"  Lady 
Harborough  would  allege  on  birthdays. 

But  as  Mary  grew  up  (she  was  never  '  May,' 


92  SIK   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

the  name  would  not  have  suited  her)  she  came 
less  and  less  to  Dove  Hall.  "  We  shall  be  so 
glad  to  see  you  and  Louisa  here,"  would  be  a 
frequent  formula  in  Lady  Harborough's  writing, 
"  but  Mary  is  busy  with  her  lessons,  and  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  interrupt  them." 

Or  if  it  were  holiday-time,  Mary  was  growing  so 
fast  that  she  was  to  be  sent  to  the  sea  by  the 
doctor's  orders  ;  or,  she  had  been  promised  a  trip 
abroad  with  her  parents,  and  had  been  looking 
forward  to  it  for  so  long  that  her  mother  feared 
it  would  be  too  great  a  disappointment  to  give  it 
up  now. 

But  always  accompanying  such  refusals  would 
be  the  summons  to  come  and  see  Mary  in  her  own 
home  ;  and  with  this  the  childless  uncle  and  aunt 
were  fain  to  be  satisfied. 

When  they  went  nothing  could  be  nicer,  and 
no  one  kinder  than  host  and  hostess. 

Sir  Philip,  a  thin,  whitefaced,  alarmed-looking 
man,  rather  enjoyed  his  burly  brother-in-law's 
company,  and  listened  respectfully  to  his  talk, 
especially  if  Jonathan  talked  about  money.  He 
knew  that  he  might  wear  his  old  diimer  suit  with 
impunity  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mercer  were  as  they 
often  were,  the  only  guests.     N.B.     Lady  Har- 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  93 

borough  used  to  protest  that  a  family  party  was 
always  the  pleasantest,  when  the  Mercers  found 
no  other  occupants  of  the  spare  rooms.  Whereat 
Jonathan's  eyes  would  twinkle  ;  and  once  he  said 
something,  in  consequence  of  which  there  were 
two  other  couples  already  installed  and  prepared 
to  be  agreeable,  on  his  next  appearance  at  the 
Chase.  Her  ladyship,  who  was  clever  in  her  own 
way,  was  quick  to  see  when  a  mistake  had  been 
made. 

But  the  older  Mary  grew,  the  less  likely  di'd  it 
appear  that  she  v/ould  ever  pay  her  homely 
relations  any  but  the  most  severely  and  formally 
hedged-in  of  visits.  Mary  herself  pleaded  in 
vain. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  all  by  myself  for  a  long, 
long  time,"  she  said  once,  when  on  the  verge  of 
eighteen  :  "  uncle  Jo  said  he  would  like  it,  and  so 
did  aunt  Lou.  "Why  can't  I  go?  "  For  she  was 
a  spoilt  child,  and  whined  for  what  she  wanted. 

"Can't  she  go?"  inquired  Sir  Philip.  His 
eldest  daughter  (for  he  had  a  first  family)  would 
have  gone  anywhere,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  Mary's  mother  was  in  terror  lest  the  old 
strain  in  the  blood,  so  carefully  kept  out  of  sight 
in  her  own  case,  and  so  anxiously  guarded  against 


94  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

in  her  daughter's,  might  re-appear  under  fostering 
circumstances. 

"We  don't  know  lohat  sort  of  people  they 
might  have,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  after  all  the  pains 
I  have  been  at  to  avoid  giving  offence,  and  yet 
never  have  Mary  mixed  up  in  a  lower  set  than 
what  she  is  accustomed  to,  it  would  be  simple 
folly  to  let  her  go  to  Dove  Hall  now  ;  now  of  all 
times.  Just  when  she  is  to  be  presented  and 
brought  out — and  so  much  depends  upon  her 
bringing  out."  To  hear  the  great  lady  talk,  would 
any  one  have  guessed  that  her  mother  had  cooked 
her  own  dinner  and  washed  her  own  linen  ? 

Even  Sir  Philip,  who  was  getting  old,  had 
forgotten  by  this  time. 

And  Mary  herself  never  knew.  Her  Harborough 
grandmother  had  been  a  beauty,  and  a  toast ;  and 
once  Jonathan  Mercer  heard  the  young  girl 
boasting  of  this.  "  We  have  her  miniature  here," 
said  Mary. 

"  Shew  it  to  your  uncle,  dear,"  said  her  mother. 
Aside,  "  It  is  thought  so  like  her;''  nodding  and 
smiling. 

Jonathan  said  nothing  at  the  time.  The  next 
day  he  was  alone  with  his'  niece,  and  the  minia- 
ture on'  a  table  close  by. '   ""You  have;  no  picture 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  95 

of    your    other    grandma,     Mary '? "     said     he, 
quietly. 

"Why,  no;  uncle.   I  never  knew  there  was  one." 
"  Do  you  know  anything  about  her,  my  dear?  " 
"  No,  uncle.     I — I  am  afraid  I  do  not."     Mary 
hung  her  head  a  little. 

"  She  was  a  very  good  woman,"  said  Jonathan, 
steadily;  "she  worked  and  toiled;  and  had  she 
lived,  it  would  perhaps  have  been  better  for  your 
ma  and  me  ;  for  she  would  have  brought  us  up  in 
the  fear  of  the  Lord,  as  I've  heard  the  neighbours 
say, — but  we  never  knew — leastways  May  never 
knew  what  a  loss  she  had  in  being  left  motherless 
before  she  was  twelve  years  old,  even  if" — he 
paused  and  looked  steadfastly  at  Mary's  daughter, 
wondering  whether  he  dared  to  finish  the  sentence 
as  he  was  finishing  it  within  his  own  breast?  He 
felt  that  he  ought,  he  wished  that  he  could, — but 
the  moment  passed,  and  Lady  Harborough  never 
knew  how  near  she  had  been  to  the  edge  of  a 
precipice.  This  had  happened  before  the  days  of 
her  widowhood. 

After  that,  Jonathan  was  more  careful.  He 
realised  that  with  Sir  Philip  gone,  and  his  son 
(himself  a  married  man  with  a  family)  in  posses- 
sion,""the  two  females  were  in  a  manner  at  his 


96  SIR   PATRICK:   THE    PUDDOCK 

mercy ;  and  something  of  the  old  protecting 
fondness  he  had  had  as  a  boy  for  the  httle  sister 
who  had  no  one  but  himself  to  care  for  her, 
returned  for  the  widow  who  once  again  depended 
for  so  much  on  him. 

She  was  '  grand '  of  course  ;  but  he  thought  she 
had  a  right  to  be  grand,  and  would  not  have  liked 
to  see  her  in  anything  but  the  best  of  company, 
holding  her  head  up  among  them. 

He  paid  the  big  rent  for  the  small  house  in  the 
heart  of  Mayfair  without  a  qualm. 

He  went  with  May  to  see  after  carriages.  She 
would  have  put  up  with  some  not  quite  in  the 
latest  fashion,  but  Jonathan  would  not. 

He  declared  for  a  second  footman.  The  widow's 
eyes  glistened  at  his  extravagance. 

"  And  see  that  she's  turned  out  '  up  to  Dick,'  " 
concluded  he,  with  a  glance  at  Mary.  "Don't 
stint  her,  (always  remember  that  he  said  'er), — 
"  and  if  any  feller  comes  along  and  you're  satisfied, 
arid  she's  satisfied,  send  him  to  me." 

The  Dowager  Lady  Harborough  took  both  her 
brother's  hands  in  her  own  and  kissed  him.  There 
are  some  people  upon  whom  liberality  makes  more 
impression  than  any  other  virtue. 

We  can  thus  understand  then  when  it  entered 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  97 

into  the  mind  of  our  worthy  friend  to  summon  his 
niece,  in  order,  as  he  freely  put  it,  to  bowl  out 
Miss  Sophy  Gill,  whose  acquiescence  in  his  wife's 
designs  he  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt — else  why 
all  this  bridling  and  coquetting? — he  was  not,  we 
repeat,  hampered  by  any  doubts  of  being  able  to 
carry  out  his  purpose. 

Once  or  twice  of  late  he  had  nearly  sent  for 
Mary.  On  first  going  down  to  Losca,  he  had 
longed  to  propose  her  making  one  of  the  party. 
But  an  opportune  medical  order  for  German 
baths  had  nipped,  as  possibly  it  was  meant  to  nip, 
any  such  contingency  in  the  bud. 

"  If  they  would  have  us  by  ourselves,"  the 
fashionable  dame  confided  to  her  daughter,  "  I'm 
sure  I  would  go,  and  so  would  you,  dear.  Gladly. 
Cheerfully.  Such  a  dear  uncle  ;  and  poor  Louisa 
is  quite  harmless.  But  they  loill  have  such 
dreadful  people.  Anybody  who  wants  board  and 
lodging  can  get  in  at  Dove  Hall ;  and  no  doubt  it 
will  be  the  same,  or  more  so,  at  Losca  Castle.  I 
know  we  always  heard  their  house-parties  in  the 
Highlands  were  the  laughing-stock  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. No,  we  can't  go,  Mary  ;  not  at  present. 
When  you  are  a  little  older,  and  have  established 

your  position " 

8 


98  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"Oh,  what  does  that  matter?"  cried  Mary, 
impatiently. 

"My  dear,  that  is  it,  that  is  just  it.  It  is 
because  you  are  always  thinking  it  doesn't  matter" 
— Lady  Harborough  frowned  and  bit  her  lip,  she 
could  not  explain,  could  not  get  her  daughter  to 
see  without  explanation — finally  had  to  fall  back 
on  vexation  and  silence, — but  what  she  was  say- 
ing to  herself  was  that  if  the  tiresome  girl  could 
only  perceive  how  much  it  mattered,  that  it  would 
not  have  mattered  one  half  as  much — a  curious 
grammatical  product  in  the  way  of  an  aphorism, 
but  there  is  no  doubt  her  ladyship  knew  what  she 
meant. 

"  I  think  all  that  sort  of  thing's  nonsense,"  said 
Mary,  bluntly.  Then  she  burst  out :  "  Why  need 
we  mind  more  than  other  people  ?  Everybody 
goes  everywhere  now-a-days.  The  De  Vesci  girls 
are  going  to  stop  with  their  coalman.  They  think 
it  the  greatest  fun.  They  say  they  have  seen  his 
name  on  the  coal-trucks  at  the  station.  Maud  De 
Vesci  says  it's  a  shame  to  waste  such  a  visit  in 
hot  weather,  as  they  might  have  coaled  up  all 
night  in  their  bedrooms,  if  they  had  gone  in  the 
winter.     And  uncle  Jo  is  your  own  brother " 

Here  again  Mary  missed  the  point. 


HOBSON'S    CHOICE  99 

In  the  end,  however,  she  yielded  ;  indeed  she 
had  no  very  strong  feeHngs  on  the  subject  either 
v^ay,  and  v^ith  all  the  good  things  of  the  v^^orld  to 
pick  and  choose  from,  could  dispense  with  the 
exercise  of  self-will  on  an  immaterial  point. 

Someday  or  other  she  would  go  to  Losca  Castle  ; 
and  meantime  she  went  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, enjoying  life  as  much  as  a  girl  could. 

"  I  do  think  Mary  Harborough  has  the  best 
time  of  any  of  us  ;  "  was  a  frequent  remark  in  the 
Harborough  set,  and  it  was  a  set  in  which  most 
of  its  members  had  good  times. 

Mary  was,  as  we  have  said,  beautiful — she  was 
also  healthy,  vigorous,  high-spirited,  and  abso- 
lutely without  an  apparent  care  or  trouble. 

Her  father's  death  had  removed  a  kindly  old 
man,  and  what  was  more,  taken  away  a  home  to 
which  she  was  fondly  attached ;  but  youth  soon 
becomes  reconciled  to  the  inevitable,  and  she 
rneant  to  have  a  country  house  of  her  own 
presently. 

Presently.  When  she  had  decided  on  the 
person  who  was  to  share  it.  So  far  he  had  not 
appeared,  but  "  You  know,  my  dear,"  said  the 
mother,  in  one  of  the  '  little  talks  '  which  from 
time   to   time  circumstances   rendered  desirable, 


100  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"  there  is  no  need  to  hurry.  You  are  not  like 
other  girls,  Mary.     Your  good,  kind  uncle " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  married  for  my  money," 
cried  Mary,  indignantly. 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  that."  Lady  Harborough 
regarded  fondly,  proudly,  and  significantly  the 
glowing  face  which  always  looked  its  best  when 
thus  stirred.  "  I  really  think  you  need  not  worry 
about  that.  Even  supposing  it  is  conjectured  that 
you  are  likely  to  inherit  a  fortune " 

"  Conjectured  ?    Everybody  knows," 

"  They  can't  know.  They  may  suppose.  They 
may  even  take  it  for  granted ' ' 

"  They  do  know.  Mother,  what  is  the  use 
of  pretending?  As  if  Johnny  Stapleton  would 
ever  have " 

"  It  was  extremely  presuming  of  Captain 
Stapleton  to  think  of  you  at  all.  A  fifth  son! 
He  ought  to  have  considered  himself " 

"  It  was  his  people  who  egged  him  on,  you 
know." 

"  His  people  ?  He  pretended  he  was  madly  in 
love  with  you  !  " 

"  He  wasn't.     He  only  had  to  say  it." 

"  At  any  rate  there  was  Sir  Harry  Bright,  and 
Lord   Alexander    Gowrie.      Both   very   suitable. 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  101 

Not  that  I  wished  you  to  have  either  of  them,  but 
there  was  no  harm  in  their  speaking." 

"Oh,  no  harm.  But  they  didn't  want  me,  all 
the  same." 

"My  dear  child,  what  do  you  mean?  If  they 
did  not  w^ant  you,  what  did  they  ask  you  for  ?  " 

"  They  didn't  want  me,  they  wouldn't  have 
minded  Miss  Harborough.  She  was  good  enough, 
all  things  considered.  She  had  a  decent  appear- 
ance ;  and  there  was  the  old  josser  at  her 
back " 

"  Mary,  Mary  ! — Eeally,  really  !  I — you  really 
startle  me  sometimes.  Where  you  can  have 
picked  up,"  cried  her  ladyship  genuinely  an- 
noyed, not  to  say  alarmed — ' '  such  words,  such 
language " 

"  It's  all  right.  We  all  talk  like  that  now," 
Mary  nodded  re-assuringly.  "  Keep  your  hair  on, 
dear.  I  assure  you  I  am  nothing  to  the  rest  of 
-us.  And  besides,  I  was  only  talking  d  la  Harry 
and  Sandy.  They  would  say  '  the  old  josser '  and 
I  was  showing  you  them  talking  behind  our  backs. 
I  know  how  they  would  do  it  exactly.  And  don't 
you  imagine  you  have  kept  uncle  Jo  dark.  Not 
quite.     They  know  all  about  it " 

"  Know  all  about  it !  "  faintly. 


102  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"  Who  he  is,  what  he  was,  and  what  he  has. 
They  know  that  he  runs  us  two," 

"'Kunsus'!  " 

"  The  whole  show  knows  it,"  waving  her  hand 
round  about.  "  My  dear  lady,  Harry  asked  me 
one  day  straight  out,  if  it  wasn't  so  ?  " 

"And  you  told  him  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  told  him.  Why  shouldn't  I? 
None  of  us  mind  those  sort  of  things.  You  are  so 
awfully  old-fashioned " 

Old-fashioned  ?  Lady  Harborough  recovered 
herself.  To  be  old-fashioned  was  creditable  and 
respectable.  She  had  no  sort  of  objection  to 
being  old-fashioned ;  and  if  it  were  true  that  the 
present  generation — she  struggled  with  herself, 
wondering  if  she  should  ever  be  able  to  cope  with 
the  present  generation  ? 

"  It  does  seem  all  very  strange  to  me,"  she  said, 
with  a  sigh  which  was  not  quite  natural,  but  good 
imitation — "  but  I  have  lived  so  long  out  of  the 
world  (she  had  never  till  within  recent  years  lived 
in  it)  that  you  will  have  to  be  my  instructor,  I 
suppose.  At  any  rate  about  the  young  people. 
So  you  think  they  are  all  greedy,  calculating,  and 
vulgar?  "  with  some  bitterness. 

"  Not   all.     I  think  there  are  some  very  nice 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  103 

ones.  But  they  don't  ask  me  to  marry  them — for 
that  reason." 

"  Good  Gracious,  child  !  "  A  desperate  fear 
entered  into  the  parent's  heart.  She  had  heard 
that  plebeian  birth,  that  sometimes  it  was  allowed 
some  weight  in  the  scale  ;  and  since  this  rude, 
coarse  Sir  Harry  had  had  the  impertinence  to 
enquire  of  poor  Mary  to  her  own  face  as  to  the 
financial  arrangements  of  the  family,  to  what 
other  lengths  might  he  not  have  gone  ? 

It  was  true  that  nothing  he  had  heard  had  kept 
him  back  ;  but  this  was  not  to  say  he  might  not 
have  spread  abroad  enough  that  was  most  unfor- 
tunately true  about  the  beautiful  and  prospec- 
tively rich  Miss  Harborough,  to  deter  more 
eligible  and  disinterested  men. 

Mary  herself  appeared  quite  indifferent. 
"  There  is  nothing  against  me,"  she  said, 
frankly,  "I'm  all  right.  Only  the  men  I  know 
aren't  the  kind  that  fall  in  love ;  and  if  they 
were,  I  don't  suppose  there  is  anything  in  me  to 
fall  in  love  with.  I'm  just  like  other  girls.  It 
doesn't  in  the  least  matter  if  you're  good-looking 
or  bad-looking  now-a-days.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  dress,  and  when  you're  dressed,  to  talk,  and 
be  smart,  and  know  about  things.     I  can  do  it — 


104  SIR   PATRTCK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

but  SO  can  we  all.  Vi  Chippenham  is  awfully 
ugly  really,  but  she  gets  on  as  well  as  any  of  us, 
and  whacks  about  everywhere,  holding  her  head 
up,  and  giving  herself  the  airs  of  a  beauty.  That 
girl  has  more  men  round  her  than — well,  than 
I  have  ;  "  said  Mary,  laughing. 

"  Nonsense  ;  "  said  her  mother,  angrily. 

"It's  true.  And  I'll  tell  you— I  think  it's 
partly,"  she  hesitated,  "Vi  sticks  at  nothing, 
and— and  I  do.  She  said  once  I  was  bourgeois " 

"What?"  A  stab  shot  through  Lady  Har- 
borough's  veins. 

"  I  wouldn't  laugh  at  something,  and  I  wouldn't 
pretend  to  laugh.  Never  mind  what  it  was  ;  you 
wouldn't  understand ;  but  they  all  thought  it  very 
funny,  and  I  thought  it  disgusting.  Vi  was  per- 
fectly furious  at  this  ;  and  she  thought  she'd  take 
it  out  of  me,  so  what  do  you  think  she  said,  turn- 
ing round  to  the  rest :  '  The  middle-classes  are 
more  particular  than  we  are.'  It  was  a  nasty 
one." 

"  What — what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said — I'm  afraid  you  won't  like  it,  mother 
dear," — Lady  Harborough  put  out  her  hand  and 
took  the  slim,  pretty  hand  which  lay  upon  the 
cushion   by  her   side,  she  was   not   often   called 


HOBSON'S   CHOICE  105 

'  Mother  dear  ' — "  you  know  I  never  mean  really 
to  vex  you,"  continued  the  girl,  with  a  flush  of 
earnestness,  "but  I  couldn't  help  myself.  I 
should  have  felt  so  mean  if  I  had  let  it  pass." 

"  So  you  said ?  " 

"I  said:  'If  that's  the  case  I'm  glad  I  have 
some  middle-class  blood  in  me,  and  I  only  wish 
I  had  more  of  it  than  I  have.'  " 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  said "     A  pause. 

"  You  can  tell  me  what  she  said,  Mary."  Lady 
Harborough  spoke  rather  low,  but  steadily. 

"  You  mustn't  mind,  mother  :  I  tell  you  they  all 
know.  Only  no  one  but  Vi  Chippenham  would 
have  said  it  out.  When  I  '  wished  I  had  more 
of  it ' — it  was  awfully  foolish  of  me  to  say  that, 
but  I  hadn't  a  moment  to  think,  and  it  just  let 
that  girl  in — she  said,  quick  as  lightning  :  '  About 
equal  parts,  isn't  it  ?  '  and  laughed  in  my  face." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  the  eyes  of  both  upon 
the  floor.  Then  Lady  Harborough  slowly  rose  to 
leave  the  room.  At  the  door  she  stood  still  for 
a  moment,  the  handle  between  her  fingers : 
"  Mary,"  she  murmured,  her  lips  trembling  and 
her  cheek  slightly  flushing  as  she  spoke,  "  did 
you  mind  much,  Mary?" 


10(i  STPi    PATRICK:    TITE    PUDDOCK 

There  was  a  quick  step  behind,  an  arm  was 
round  her  neck,  and  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek. 

"Except  for  your  sake,  I  didn't  mind  a  two- 
penny— ahem  !  "  cried  she,  gaily.  "  There  now  ; 
if  that  doesn't  vindicate  my  bhie  blood  on  one 
side  of  the  house,  what  would  ?  Honour  bright, 
my   dear   mother.      I   have   always   wished   you 

would  allow  me  not  to  be  ashamed  of "  she 

stopped. 

"Of  me,  Mary?" 

"  Of  your  family.  Of  dear  uncle  Jo,  and  all  the 
rest  of  them." 

"  There  is  no  '  rest '  my  dear,"  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  There  was,  once,  and  people  know  it.  They 
don't  speak  of  it,  of  course,  except  in  a  fight,  as 
that  girl  did  ; — but  they  know  it,  all  the  same. 
And  though  there's  no  need  to  thrust  it  down 
their  throats,  why  should  you  and  I — what  I 
mean  is,  let  us  be  honest ;  don't  let  us  pretend 
to  be  what  we  are  not,  and  don't  let  us  mind 
when  we're  known  for  what  we  are.  And  one 
day  you'll  let  me  go  and  visit  uncle  Jo,  won't 
you?" 


CHAPTEK   V 

"SOPHY— MY  NIECE,    MISS   HARBOROUGH" 

A  LL  this  time  Jonathan  has  been  sitting, 
somewhat  ill-manneredly  we  must  confess, 
glowering  at  Sir  Patrick,  and  biting  his  finger- 
nails, so  that  the  best  disposed  of  his  fellow 
mortals  would  scarcely  have  supposed  him  to  be 
engaged — actually  engaged  at  the  very  moment 
of  his  looking  so  surly  and  disagreeable  —  in 
mental  projects  for  the  benefit  of  The  Pud- 
dock. 

The  Puddock  sat  on  a  low  seat,  and  looked 
up  at  his  friends.  He  never  thought  of  himself 
and  his  appearance,  or  he  would  not  have  chosen 
that  seat.  It  made  him  seem  broader  and  squarer 
than  usual ;  it  brought  into  prominence  his  thick, 
short  feet  and  heavy  shoulders.  As  his  eyes  were 
lifted,  one  saw  that  they  were  large,  soft,  and 
bright — but   again   they   had   something   of    the 

107 


108  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

protruding  fulness  of  the  homely  creature  whom 
he  was  supposed  to  resemble. 

("  Gracious  me !  he  needn't  have  squatted 
down  there  !  "  inwardly  exclaimed  the  lady 
who  favoured  him,  thinking  of  the  lady  who 
did  not.  "There  are  plenty  of  good  chairs?") 
"  Won't  you  take  a  more  comfortable  seat,  Sir 
Patrick?"  said  she,  aloud. 

Sir  Patrick  thanked  her,  but  was  very  well 
where  he  was. 

"  You're  right  in  the  draught ;  "  she  tried,  next. 
"  Draught  ?  Oh  !  "  Sir  Patrick  glanced  round 
with  a  laugh  ;  "I  am  always  in  a  draught ;  I  live 
in  a  draught.  If  I  did  not  insist  on  opening  every 
chink  at  Kinellan,  I  should  choke.  Walls  seven 
feet  thick  don't  allow  of  much  circulation  of  air, 
especially  when  you  have  servants  whose  chief 
end  in  life  it  seems  to  be  to  keep  out  what  little 
there  is." 

"  Servants  are  very  troublesome,"  said  Mrs. 
Mercer,  placidly. 

"  I  have  found  a  cure  for  that,"  replied  he,  with 
a  sly  look. 

"  Indeed  ?     A  cure  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 
"  Let  them  do  whatever  they  like,   and  then 
undo  it  myself  when  I  get  ihe  chance," 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,   MISS   HARBOEOUGH "    109 

"  But  dear  me,  Sir  Patrick,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer, 
when  the  laugh  occasioned  by  this  sally  had  sub- 
sided, "  that  is  rather  a  roundabout  way  to  take. 
It  sounds  a  little  as  if  you  were — it  sounds  rather 
like  a  bachelor  master,"  archly.  "  I  doubt  if  it 
would  answer  were  there  a  mistress  in  the  case." 
"  So  Selina  tells  me.  She  looks  askance  upon 
my  domestic  regime.  I'm  bound  to  say  I  fancy 
the  feeling  is  reciprocated." 

"  Mrs.  Kinellan  said  she  thought  you  ought  to 
have  a  house  in  Town,"  put  in  a  new  voice,  as 
Sophy  thought  she  had  been  out  of  the  conver- 
sation long  enough.  "  Why  don't  you.  Sir 
Patrick?" 

"  They  wouldn't  let  me,  Miss  Sophy." 
"They?     Who?" 

"  Macallum  and  Mrs.  Macallum  :  Macdougall 
and  Tom  Macdougall  :  Old  Maclachlan  and 
young  Maclachlan.     My  tyrants  generally." 

"Do  you  mean  your  servants^  Do  you  let 
them  say  what  you  are  to  do,  and  what  you  are 
not  to  do  ?" 

"There  is  no  'letting'  required,  I  assure  you. 
Occasionally  I  obtain  permission  to  run  off  for 
a  week  or  two  in  the  summer  to  hear  a  few- 
operas,  and  see  a  few  pictures,  and  bring   back 


110  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

word  about  the  Crystal  Palace  Horse  Show — once 
I  was  allowed  to  buy  a  couple  of  horses  after  it — 
but  it  is  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth  to  outstay 
my  leave  of  absence.  Macallum  takes  a  return 
ticket  for  me." 

"  Mrs.  Mercer,  does  he  mean  it? " 

"I  doubt  he  is  laughing  at  us,  Sophy."  The 
two  regarded  their  romancist  with  somewhat 
doubtful  smiles. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  doing  nothing  of  the  sort,"  pro- 
tested he,  stoutly.  "  You  should  hear  my  sister- 
in-law  on  the  subject,  and  I  declare  she  does  not 
know  the  half.  I  keep  it  from  her — half  my  time 
is  spent  in  keeping  it — how  well  I  am  under  the 
household  thumb.  She  thinks  it  is  only  within 
the  walls  of  Kinellan,  and  she  frets  and  fumes  at 
that.  Between  ourselves,  Miss  Sophy,  I  do  a 
little  laughing  in  my  sleeve  occasionally ;  and 
my  good  old  faithful  creatures  know  it,  and  are 
as  stubborn  as  mules — even  my  brother  has  a 
laugh  with  me  in  private  over  it  all  —  but  I 
believe  his  wife  would  cry  aloud  to  the  house- 
tops if  she  knew  that  it  is  Macdougall  (who  loves 
the  sea,)  who  tells  me  that  I  want  to  go  fishing, 
and  his  son  Tom  (who  is  a  good  shot,)  who  drags 
me  up  the  heights  after  the  ptarmigan." 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,   MISS   HARBOEOUGH "    111 

"  They  take  you  when  you  don't  want  to  go  ?  " 
cried  Sophy,  staring. 

"Even  so,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  mildly. 

"  Well,  if  they  were  my  servants " 

"Wliat  would  3^ou  do?"  said  he,  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  Send  every  one  of  them  out  of  the 
house." 

"  It  would  be  your  only  chance  of  a  quiet  life," 
said  Sir  Patrick,  rising  to  go.  "  But  as  you  see, 
the  spirit  of  resistance  has  been  crushed  out  of 
me ;  and  even  now  I  am  trembling  lest  an  angry 
gong  should  wake  the  echoes  of  the  glen  before 
I  have  reached  a  certain  boundary  line  within 
which  I  must  be  at  a  given  time  before  dinner. 
If  I  am  not  there,  there  will  be  faces  at  every 
window,  and  the  great  Macallum  in  swollen  fury 
and  distended  dignity  upon  the  doorstep.  I  tried 
once  to  sneak  in  by  another  door,  but  he  headed 
me  off  before  I  could  reach  my  own  staircase.  I 
shall  never  resort  to  stratagem  with  Macallum 
again." 

He  took  his  leave,  and  Mrs.  Mercer  turned  to 
her  husband. 

"  Sir  Patrick  can  be  very  amusing,"  she  said, 
"  but  though  one  needn't   take  all   he  says   for 


112  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

gospel,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  he  badly  wants 
a  wife,  and  his  house  a  mistress." 

"  It  does  seem  to  me  then,"  quoth  Jonathan, 
drily,  "that  it's  odd  he  should  have  waited  till  we 
came  to  find  out  his  wants — supposing  he  has 
found  them  out." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  was  saying? " 

"  I  heard  a  mumbling.  I  didn't  hear  what 
about." 

"  Because  you  would  stay  so  far  away.  You 
should  have  come  over  here  and  sat  among  us. 
Sir  Patrick  was  quite  talkative." 

"I  never  heard  anything  like  him,"  chimed  in 
Sophy. 

Mrs.  Mercer's  brow  smoothed  with  benignity. 
She  primmed  up  her  mouth  and  bridled.  "  It 
isn't  always  the  best-looking  men — I  had  rather 
any  day  have  a  pleasant  companion  than  a  fine 
figure-head  with  nothing  in  his  noddle." 

"  That's  a  compliment  to  me,"  observed 
Jonathan.  He  was  determined  not  to  see  what 
she  was  aiming  at.  "  She  never  pretended  she 
thought  me  a  beauty,"  to  Sophy,  "but  I  cut  out 
the  dandies  with  her,  all  the  same.  What's  your 
opinion,  young  lady?"  And  he  shot  a  quick, 
shrewd,  investigating  glance. 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,    MISS   HARBOROUGH"    113 

"  Now  for  it ;  "  thought  Mrs.  Mercer, — but  she 
on  her  part  would  not  look.  After  what  had 
already  passed,  she  had  no  desire  to  force  the 
situation.  Bear  in  mind  that  it  was  only  a  few 
hours  since  Sophy  had  hated  ugly  men. 

"  I — I  don't  think  it  much  matters,"  faltered 
she. 

"Gad!  She's  throwing  her  fly  already!" 
ejaculated  Jonathan  Mercer  under  his  breath. 

Then  all  in  a  moment  he  bustled  out  of  the 
room,  and  was  heard  asking  Thomas,  the  under 
footman,  if  the  post  had  gone  ?  It  had  not,  and 
Thomas  was  desired  to  go  to  the  library  for  a 
letter  before  it  did. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  the  old  gentle- 
man thus  addressed  his  wife.  "You  were  think- 
ing of  taking  a  trip  to  Oban  one  day  this  week, 
weren't  you?  " 

"If  the  weather  keeps  fine,"  replied  she.  "I 
have  promised  Sophy  a  Scotch  frock," — ("Which 
Sophy  came  precious  near  losing,"  mentally  com- 
mented that  damsel). — "  She  did  not  expect  to  be 
here  in  October,"  pursued  her  kind  patroness, 
"  and  it  is  often  chilly  in  October.  You  are  not 
in  a  hurry  to  go  back  to  Dove  Hall  are  you,  my 
dear?" 

9 


114  yiPt   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  grinning  to  himself. 
"  So  long  as  you  are  content,  I  am." 

"  The  place  suits  us  both,  I  fancy,  Jonathan." 
"  Down  to  the  ground,"  replied  he. 
"  And  Sophy  says  she's  delighted." 
Sophy  showed  a  '  delighted  '  expression. 
"  So  I  don't  see  that   we   need   be  moving," 
pursued  the  wily  old  lady,  thinking  how  clever 
she   was.      "  Sir   Patrick   was    saying   only   the 
other  day  that  it  is    a   pity  everybody   flies   off 
from  the  Highlands  just  when  they  are  at  their 
best.     They  are  never  at  their  best  in  the  shoot- 
ing season — for  people  who  don't  shoot,  at  least. 
August  is  pretty  nearly  alwaj^s  a  wet  month.  Sir 
Patrick  says." 

"  It  was  a  fine  month  enough  this  year." 

"  So  it  was.     But  Sir  Patrick  says " 

"  He  seems  to  have  said  a  good  deal."  For 
the  life  of  him  Jonathan  could  not  suppress  the 
interruption.  No  husband  likes  to  have  another 
man  quoted  out  of  all  reason,  and  what  with 
barometers,  rain-gauges,  and  his  own  incessant 
observations,  why  should  old  Jo  Mercer  not  be 
permitted  to  know  as  much  about  the  weather 
as  other  folks?  Even  his  gardeners  and  fisher- 
men did  not  offer  their  opinion  on  this    subject 


"SOPHY- MY    NTECE,   MISS   HARBOROUGH "    115 

too  freely,  perceiving  whom  they  had  to  deal 
with;  while  only  that  day  one  of  them  had 
asked  him — aye,  and  asked  with  every  appear- 
ance of  interest,  not  to  say  anxiety,  what  '  the 
glass '  said  ?  It  was  ridiculous  to  thrust  Sir 
Patrick  down  his  throat  after  such  a  compH- 
ment  from  Mungo  McTaggart — Mungo,  who 
had  lived  all  his  life  upon  the  place. 

"I  should  hope  I  know  a  blue  sky  when  I  see 
it,  as  well  as  Sir  Patrick  Eanellan,"  proceeded  he, 
testily,  "and  it  isn't  quite  the  first  autumn  I've 
spent  in  the  Highlands " 

"  Not  in  the  West,  my  dear." 

"West?  What's  West?  Don't  make  Sir 
Patrick  out  a  fool.  He's  well  enough;  a  sharp 
little  body,  and " 

"  Good  gracious,  Jonathan  !  "  Reproach  and 
consternation  caused  Mrs.  Mercer's  rich  silk  dress 
to  rustle  all  over,  as  she  moved  irrepressibly  in 
her  chair — ("Little  body!"  she  muttered  to 
herself).  What  girl,  already  only  half  recon- 
ciled to  a  lover's  appearance,  or  lack  of  appear- 
ance, could  hear  him  called  a  "  Little  body " 
without  its  taking  effect? 

"  I  think  you're  quite  rude,"  said  she,  redden- 
ing.     "Tall   or    short,    what    does    it    matter? 


116  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

You're  none  so  tall  yourself,  but  I  wonder  how 
you  would  feel   if   you   heard  yourself   called   a 

'Little  body.'     Sophy,  give  me  that— that " 

She  wanted  nothing,  but  she  must  have  a  look 
at  Sophy,  and  pointed  impatiently  with  her 
finger  into  vacancy. 

"  What    is    it,   aunt    Louisa  ? "    said    Sophy, 
innocently. 

"Can't  you  see,  child?     The — the  screen,  of 

course.     These  enormous  fires " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  ;  "  said  Sophy,  hastening  up. 
The  screen  was  carefully  adjusted,  and  a  foot- 
stool for  aunt  Louisa's  feet  thrown  in.     No  one 
could  pay  such   little  attentions  more  dutifully 
and  handily  than  Miss  Sophy ;  and  as  she  now 
took  up  the  old  lady's  knitting,  and  proceeded  to 
point  out  sundry  dropped  stitches  which  in  the 
heat  of  the  argument  had  slipped  the  needle,  her 
face   close   as  it  was  to  the  electric  lamp,  and 
pitilessly   exposed  to  the   scrutiny   of   both   her 
companions,  betrayed  no  emotion  of  any  kind. 
"  She  must  have  heard ;  "  thought  they. 
But    they    could    not    be   sure.      They   often 
fancied  Sophy  was  a  little  deaf.     Certainly  she 
was  not  inconveniently  quick  of  hearing  ;     ' '  And 
really  with  a  man  who  blurts  out  everything  that 


"SOPHY— MY  NIECE,   MISS   HARBOROUGH "    117 

comes  into  his  head,  it's  a  blessing  to  have  some 
one  who  never  puts  herself  about  to  listen,  at 
any  rate ;  "  Jonathan's  more  prudent  spouse  more 
than  once  congratulated  herself. 

Each,  however,  now  thought  that  enough  had 
been  said,  Mr.  Mercer  to  disparage  The  Pud- 
dock,  Mrs.  Mercer  to  defend  him, —  and  by 
common  consent  they  reverted  to  the  subject 
which  had  occupied  them  before  his  name 
entered  into  the  conversation. 

"  Since  you  and  Sir  Patrick  have  settled  it 
between  you  that  the  weather  is  to  be  fine," 
said  Jonathan,  sarcastically,  "  perhaps  you'll 
let  me  know  when  you've  fixed  your  day  for 
Oban?  Captain  Binks  likes  to  get  his  orders 
in  good  time,  and  we  haven't  been  out  lately." 

"  Why  not  go  to-morrow,  Jonathan  ?  " 

"To-morrow?  That's  sharp  practice.  I — I 
don't  know  that  I  am  exactly  wanting  to  go 
to-morrow." 

"  The  next  day,  then  ?  " 

"Or  Friday?  I  may  have  business  in  Oban 
on  Friday.  Some  one  to  meet  perhaps?  (She 
certainly  can't  come  before  Friday;  "  calculated 
he,  inwardly). 

And     when     Friday    was     agreed     upon,    he 


118  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

chuckled.  All  would  fall  out  easily,  naturally, 
unsuspiciously.  He  pictured  the  explanation 
scene,  and  heard  his  own  voice  talking. 

He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  send  for  his  niece, 
and  to  make  her  coming  a  pleasant  surprise. 
Losca  Castle  was  a  big  place  to  be  wasted  on 
three  people;  and  having  one  girl,  he  had  had 
the  happy  thought  of  getting  down  another  for 
company. 

And  of  course  he  could  not  have  Miss  Har- 
borough  sooner ;  that  was  not  to  be  expected. 
Miss  Harborough  —  (the  speaker  was  wont  to 
breathe  audibly,  and  speak  through  his  nose 
with  a  peculiar  intonation  when  Miss  Har- 
borough was  his  theme)  —  she  was  far  too 
much  sought  after,  run  after,  hurried  after, 
for  ordinary  folks  to  have  a  chance  while  the 
great  rush  was  on.  He  had  waited  for  a  slack 
time.  October  was  a  slack  time  as  times  went 
with  the  Harboroughs.  They  were  always  in 
request — but  he  believed  there  was  a  chance,  a 
bare  chance  that  they  might  be  caught  in  October. 

He  heard  himself  saying  it  all ;  the  beginning 
part  for  his  wife's  benefit,  the  remainder  for  that 
of  Sophy  Gill  and  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan. 

For  Sir  Patrick  he  would  also  add  a  codicil. 


"SOPHY— MY  NIECE,    MISS  HAKBOROUGH"    119 

He  had  but  to  say  openly — though  by  way  of 
confidentially — that  his  niece  would  eventually 
inherit  all  his  wealth,  to  feel  safe  from  any 
aspiration  in  that  quarter.  "  Little  Stumpy 's 
honest  as  the  day,"  reflected  he.  "  He  may 
talk  big  about  the  weather,  and  like  to  have 
the  women  thinking  that  he  knows  a  lot  more 
about  it  than  the  rest  of  us  do, — but  that's 
the  worst  you  can  say  of  him.  To  tell  him 
about  the  money  would  put  the  muzzle  on  at 
once.  He's  a  good,  good  sort,"  slowly.  "  Too 
good  for  that  Sophy  creature ;  almost — but  not 
quite  good  enough  for  Miss  Mary  Harborough. 
Mary  must  have  a  duke.  Or,  an  earl  would  do. 
We  can't  let  her  go  beneath  an  earl.  x\nd  why?" 
banging  his  fist  upon  the  table.  "  Because,  sir," 
addressing  an  imaginary  audience,  "  beauty  and 
money  is  a  combination  so  scarce  that  it  can 
command  the  market.  It  can,  and  it  shall. 
Mary's  a  nice  girl  too ;  "  he  added,  with  a  sudden 
drop  to  an  everyday  voice. 

He  would  have  thought  so  afresh  had  he 
witnessed  the  reception  of  his  missive  in 
Deanery  Street. 

"  I'm  going ;  "  said  Mary,  looking  at  her  mother 
with  decision. 


120  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"You  must  go,  you  have  no  choice.  "When 
uncle  Jo  puts  down  his  foot,  it  is  no  use  to 
struggle.  But  it  is  very  inconvenient  and 
tiresome." 

"  Not  at  all ;  "  said  Marj-,  gaily.  "  Not  at  all 
inconvenient  —  nor  tiresome.  ^Vhy  shouldn't 
uncle  Jo  wsjit  me?  And  I  would  rather  go 
now  than  at  any  other  time." 

"Do  you  really  mean  if?"  said  her  ladyship, 
incredulously.  "  Of  course  it  is  better  than  if 
they  had  a  houseful  of  tiresome  nobodies,  people 
of  their  own  class  —  now  don't  look  at  me," 
breaking  off  with  an  air  of  vexation.  "And  it 
is  not  true,  Mary.  I  never  did  belong  to  your 
uncle  Jonathan's  class.  I  was  quite  a  little,  little 
thing,  when  he  rose  in  the  world " 

"And  took  care  of  you,  and  educated  j'ou,  and 
did  everything  for  you,  didn't  he  ?  " 

Lady  Harborough  coloiu'ed  fretfully.  "You 
always  speak  as  if  I  ^^'ished  to  disparage  my 
poor  brother.  How  can  you  fancy  such  a 
thing?  I  am  extremely  fond  of  him,  as  indeed 
I  may  well  be ;  but  you  can  see  for  yourself 
that  he  is  not — not  quite  like  the  people  we 
are  accustomed  to  meet." 

This  was  true ;  Mary  could  not  deny  it. 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,   MISS   HAEBOEOUGH"    121 

"It  was  very  much  to  his  credit,"  Lady 
Harborough  pursued  her  advantage,  "  that  he 
should  by  his  own  unaided  exertions — for  he 
had  no  help  from  anybody — have  reached  such 
a  position  as  he  holds  now ;  and  still  more  that 
from  the  very  first  he  lifted  me,  a  poor  helpless 
little  thing,  along  with  him ; — but  Mary,  my 
dear,  though  it  would  be  most  ungrateful 
and  unnatural  for  me  to  feel  anything  but — 
but " 

"  You  never  seem  to  care  to  see  him." 

"  Care  to — to  see  him,"  stammering  a  little. 

"  Well,  yes  ;  "  said  Mary,  briskly.  "  I  know 
you  write ;  and  I  suppose  you  gush  in  your 
letters ;  and  you  tell  me  that  we  ought  to  be 
grateful  and  that  sort  of  thing, — but  when 
uncle  Jo  says  he's  coming  here,  or  wants  me 
to  go  there,  you  always  look  terribly  blank. 
Oh,  you  do,"  forestalHng  a  disclaimer;  "you 
try  to  pump  up  a  little  affection  and  welcome 
when  the  time  comes, — but  you  wish  it  wasn't 
needed.  You  would  like  him  just  to  write,  and 
send  cheques " 

"Oh,  Mary!" 

"  Now  if  I  had  a  brother,"  said  Mary,  "  I  don't 
believe  I  should  care  what  he  was  like.      If  he 


122  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

was  good  and  kind,  and  fond  of  me,  I  would  want 
him  to  be  always  with  me ;  I  would  go  to  his 
places,  and  take  him  to  mine ;  we  would  go  about 
together,  and  sit  and  talk  together,  and  tell  each 
other  everything " 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Lady  Harborough, 
eagerly.  "That  sounds  very  well,  and  no  doubt 
you  mean  it,  and  perhaps  would  do  it — under 
certain  circumstances.  But  put  away  the 
imaginary  brother  from  your  thoughts  for  a 
minute,  and  j)u.t  your  uncle  Jonathan  in  his 
place.  Can  you  honestly  say  that  you  would 
wish  to  take  such  an  uncle — such  a  brother,  I 
should  say— to  the  houses  we  visit,  to  the  places 
we  go  to  ?  Would  you  like  to  introduce  him  at 
our  parties  as  your  nearest  relation  ?  It  is  easy 
to  make  up  a  pretty  picture  of  brother  and  sister, 
when  you  can  concoct  the  brother  for  yourself, 
but — and  he  is  so  many  years  older  too,"  she 
murmured  in  somewhat  lame  conclusion. 

"I  suppose — perhaps — that  is  it,"  reluctantly 
conceded  Mary.  "  Still  it  does  seem  hard  that 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  you  would  never  have 
known  enough  to  be  ashamed  of  him." 

A  pause  ensued.  The  truth  thus  frankly  stated 
was  unanswerable. 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,   MISS   HARBOROUGH "    123 

"Well,  what  about  Losca?"  Mary  having 
said  her  say,  which  indeed  she  had  said  before 
more  than  once,  recovered  her  good  humour ; 
"  what  about  Losca?  " 

But  her  mother's  conscience  still  pricking,  she 
made  answer  somewhat  bitterly.  "  It  does  not 
seem  to  me  there  is  any  need  to  ask  about  Losca. 
You  and  your  uncle  have  settled  it  between  you." 

**  We  have,  but  about  you  ?  " 

**  Me?     I  am  not  invited." 

'*  What  will  you  do  ?    Where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  That  apparently  is  of  little  consequence.  I 
can  be  disposed  of.     I  can  remain  here, " 

*'  Here  ?     In  London,  in  October  ?  " 

"Why  not?  Your  uncle  has  provided  a  roof 
over  my  head " 

"  Don't  be  cross,  dear;  and  don't  visit  my  sins 
on  uncle  Jo's  head.  I  couldn't  help  saying  it, 
because  I  do  think — but  after  all,  of  course — any- 
how he  never  complains.  And  if  you  don't  want 
him,  you  can't  make  yourself  want  him.  Per- 
haps he  doesn't  want  you,"  she  added  laughing, 
"as  he  has  not  invited  you  ;  but  I  am  sure  he 
would  never  dream  of  your  moping  here  by  your- 
self ;  he  thinks  you  have  heaps  of  friends  who 
would  be  only  too  delighted  to  have  you." 


124  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  would.  Without  you, 
what  am  I  ?     Only  your  mother." 

Eventually,  however,  she  recollected  certain 
dull  houses  upon  which  Mary  would  be  wasted, 
but  where  she  herself  could  vegetate,  wear  her 
old  clothes,  go  to  bed  early,  and  give  her  maid  a 
rest — and  from  these  a  selection  was  made. 

"  And  mind  you  give  your  uncle  my  love,  and 
say  he  mustn't  keep  you  too  long,"  said  she,  at 
parting.  "You  must  be  back  for  the  Middle- 
field's  Hunt  Ball  at  any  rate.  I  know  Lady 
Middlefield  intends  to  ask  us ;  and  we  could 
start  from  there  upon  a  round — but  I  won't  bore 
you  with  plans  at  present ;  we  can  wait  and  see 
what  turns  up.  The  only  fixture  shall  be  the 
Milborough  Ball ;  and  it  can  be  used  to  extract 
you  from  Losca.  A  fortnight  of  Losca  is  as 
much  as  you  would  care  for,  or  your  uncle 
expect." 

"  All  right ;  "  said  Mary,  amicably.  She  thought 
so  herself. 

But  she  meant  to  enjoy  her  fortnight.  It  was 
such  fun  to  be  dashing  north  just  when  every 
one  else  was  dashing  south ;  such  a  joke  to 
be  going  all  alone,  to  uncle  Jo  and  aunt  Lou  in 
their  vulgar  grandeur,  and  to  run  wild  without 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,   MISS   HARBOEOUGH"    125 

a  soul  to  speak  to  but  the  two  poor  old  dears. 
(Jonathan  had  suppressed  Sophy.) 

She  was  not  afraid  of  being  dull ;  she  looked 
forward  to  it.  She  would  be  out  of  doors  from 
morning  to  night  —  out  on  the  shore  before 
breakfast. 

And  of  course  she  would  climb  the  hills — climb 
every  hill  within  reach.  She  would  fish  and 
shoot — no,  by  the  way,  the  shooting  might  not 
be  feasible,  seeing  it  was  October,  or  nearly 
October,  and  besides  her  uncle  had  no  moor 
— (Jonathan  was  sick  of  moors) — but  fish  she 
should  and  would. 

Every  brawling  stream  by  whose  banks  the 
panting  train  groaned  and  toiled — "  Is  it  all 
uphill  ?  "  she  wondered  occasionally — was  eyed 
by  our  youthful  traveller  with  enthusiasm.  How 
clear  and  brown  and  rushing  the  water  looked  ! 
How  brilliant  were  the  scarlet  rowan-trees  which 
fringed  its  way.  Here  and  there  was  a  blue 
tarn,  set  in  peat  bogs  nearly  black.  Then  a  real 
lake  would  glitter  and  lose  itself  far  away  in  the 
background.  To  crown  all,  at  one  point,  there 
was  a  powdering  of  frost,  and  a  range  of 
jutting  peaks  sparkled  like  diamonds  in  the 
sun. 


126  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDr,OCK 

Mary  Harborough  stood  at  the  open  window, 
the  sohtary  occupant  of  her  carriage ;  having 
bundled  her  good  old  Sarah  in  elsewhere,  that 
she  might  be  alone,  and  draw  deep  breaths  of 
freedom  and  delight. 

"  Oh,  why  have  I  never  had  this  before  '?  "  she 
cried  half  aloud,  "  I  might  have  had  it.  Not 
without  a  fight  perhaps,  but  it  would  have  been 
worth  a  fight.  It  is  splendid.  It  is  glorious." 
And  though  beforehand  she  had  been  urgent  for 
solitude,  she  now  almost  wished  there  had  been 
some  one  to  whom  she  could  be  rapturous.  An 
immature  and  inconsistent  creature  was  Mary. 

But  at  least  she  was  sincere.  She  was  no 
paragon.  Not  at  all  clever,  not  in  the  least 
profound,  nor  even  very  sensible — it  is  cruel  to  be 
so  plain-spoken,  but  for  once  the  truth  about  a 
beauty  and  an  heiress  must  out — and  for  all  her 
lovehness,  and  the  upward  cast  of  her  beautiful 
eyes,  we  have  before  us  a  very  ordinary  and 
sadly  unromantic  girl,  who  only  knew  what  she 
could  not  help  knowing,  and  whose  crass  igno- 
rance on  every  subject  outside  the  range  of  her 
own  daily  life,  would  have  petrified  a  school 
inspector. 

It  was  Lady  Harborough's  private  opinion  that 


"SOPHY— MY   NIECE,    MISS   HAEBOEOUGH "    127 

only  the  daughters  of  very  great  ladies  could 
afford  to  be  thought  clever  and  cultivated. 

"  Oh,  if  she  doesn't  care  for  it ;  "  said  Jonathan, 
who  had  hinted  at  a  better  education.  Even  he 
had  been  somevi^hat  surprised  at  the  hash  his 
fine  niece  made  of  a  French  letter  which  he  had 
produced  on  one  occasion.  He  had  business 
deahngs  with  French  houses. 

Mary,  however,  disposed  of  the  letter  without 
hesitation.  She  could  not  read  it,  but  no  other 
girls  of  her  set  could. 

And  she  owned  frankly  she  did  not  care  for 
books,  she  did  not  care  for  pictures,  she  did  not 
care  for  music. 

"  I  suppose  she's  just  taken  up  with  her  looks 
and  her  dress  ;  "  was  Mrs.  Mercer's  conclusion. 

But  in  this,  she  did  my  heroine  injustice. 
Taken  up  with  her  dress  she  was  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  no  girl  of  her  acquaintance,  no  girl 
•perhaps  in  all  London  thought  less  about  her 
appearance  than  did  Mary  Harborough. 

Will  any  of  her  plainer  sisters  believe  this? 
Sophy  Gill's  heart  sank  within  her  when  Mary 
walked  in  at  the  door.  Sophy  had  for  hours  been 
dressing  and  re-dressing;  changing  this  and  that; 
worrying  over  her  hair  ;  wondering  if  she  should 


128  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

be  in  her  hat,  or  out  of  it,  if  she  should  be  in 
house-attire,  or  affect  to  have  just  come  in  from 
the  garden  ? 

The  day  proving  wet  and  cold  despite  Sir 
Patrick's  prognostications,  the  expedition  to 
Oban  had  been  abandoned  by  the  ladies,  and 
Jonathan  had  found  himself  obliged  to  tell  what 
took  him  there  in  a  piteous  deluge. 

Towards  evening,  the  sky  cleared,  however, 
and  the  yacht  could  be  discerned  as  far  off  as 
Lismore,  steaming  gaily  home,  wind  and  tide 
with  her. 

"It  is  almost  a  pity  we  didn't  go,"  said  Mrs, 
Mercer,  who  was  a  fair  sailor. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Sophy,  who  was  a 
bad  one.  "  The  yacht  is  tossing  a  good  deal," 
appended  she,  presently. 

"  Poor  thing  !  She  won't  like  it ;  "  Mrs.  Mercer 
looked  from  the  window  over  the  white-capped 
sea.  "  And  coming  on  the  top  of  her  journey  too. 
Perhaps  she'll  want  to  go  to  her  room  at  once. 
You  ordered  a  fire,  Sophy  ?  " 

Sophy  nodded.  The  yacht  was  rounding  the 
headland. 

Now  she  could  see  figures  on  the  deck.  Now 
bustle,  now  the  slowing  of  the  motion,  the  stop- 


"SOPHY— MY    NIECE,   MISS    HAEBOKOUGH "    129 

page,  the  lowering  of  the  boat,  two  female  figures 
being  assisted  down  the  side — "  You  have  good 
eyes,  my  dear ; "  Mrs.  Mercer,  glasses  and  all,  was 
still  glad  to  be  told  precisely  what  was  going  on 
— "  and  now,  now  you  can  see  for  yourself," 
cried  her  informant,  as  the  boat  with  rapid 
strokes  approached  the  landing  place.  "  She's 
sitting  with  uncle  Jonathan  in  the  stern,  and  her 
maid    is   on   his   other   side.      And    there's   her 

luggage  piled  up  in  the  bow "  the  speaker 

broke  off  suddenly.  "  What  a  delightful  lot  of 
luggage  !  "  murmured  she  to  herself. 

Oh,  to  be  going  about  with  a  maid,  and  a  lot  of 
luggage,  and  to  have  everybody  fussing  over  you, 
and  making  things  pleasant  for  you,  and  taking 
it  as  a  compliment  your  coming  !  Mr.  Mercer 
would  never  have  undertaken  a  wet,  rough  cross- 
ing, risking  a  night  of  rheumatism  after  it,  on 
her  account.  Mrs.  Mercer  would  not  have 
altered  the  dinner  hour ;  though  she  might  have 
remembered  fires  in  the  bedrooms.  There  was  a 
deference  about  their  present  preparations  which 
extended  even  to  the  post-bag,  and  kept  it  hang- 
ing in  the  hall  beyond  its  usual  time,  in  case 
Miss  Harborough  might  care  to  communicate 
with  her  mother. 

10 


130  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

"  If  I  married  that  Puddock,  post-bags  would 
wait  for  me  too,"  meditated  Sophy. 

Then  Mary  Harborough  emerged  to  view,  clad 
in  a  long,  light,  travelling  coat.  "  I  could  have  a 
coat  like  that,"  thought  Sophy. 

The  new-comer  looked  up  at  the  windows  and 
waved  her  hand. 

"  And  I  should  wave  my  hand,  and  march  up 
as  if  the  whole  place  belonged  to  me,  and  take 
Mr.  Mercer  by  the  arm,  and  pat  Bruno — heigho  ! 
how  nice  it  would  be,"  with  a  half  sigh.  "But 
anyhow  I'm  glad  she's  come  ;  "  recovering.  "As 
there  are  only  we  two,  she  must  be  friends ; 
and " 

"And  here  is  Miss  Sophy,"  said  her  host 
bustling  in — Mrs.  Mercer  had  been  met  in  the 
hall.  "You  see,  you  have  not  only  the  old  folks  to 
depend  upon ;  and — and  Losca  Castle  and  all 
that  it  contains  is  very  much  at  your  service,  my 
dear.     Sophy — my  niece.  Miss  Harborough." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  pride  with 
which  he  said  it,  the  ease  vrith  which  she  ac- 
cepted it.  A  thousand  miles  could  not  more 
effectually  have  separated  the  two  thus  addressed, 
than  the  simple  words  "  Sophy  "  and  "  My  niece, 
Miss  Harborough." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   MEETING  IN  THE   WILDS 

"T  MET  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan;"  said  Mary, 
coming  into  the  dining-room,  where  the 
other  three  were  assembled  for  luncheon  on  the 
following  day.  "Am  I  late?"  looking  round. 
"I'm  so  sorry;"  seating  herself,  and  beginning 
to  pull  off  her  gloves.  "I  went  to  explore,  you 
know ;  you  promised  that  I  should  explore  all  by 
myself,  uncle ;  so  I  thought  I  might  as  well  begin 
at  once,  and  the  very  first  thing  I  explored  was — 
Sir  Patrick.     Yes,  please,  some  pheasant." 

And  the  heavens  did  not  fall ! 

Not  once  had  the  name  that  was  in  everybody's 
mind  crossed  a  single  lip  since  the  arrival  of  the 
day  before. 

By  a  kind  of  tacit  consent  all  reference  to  Sir 
Patrick  Kinellan  had  been  avoided,  and  though 
he  had  by  this  time  come  to  figure  so  largely  in 


132  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

the  thoughts  both  of  Mr.  Mercer  and  his  wife,  to 
say  nothing  of  Sophy,  that  it  had  seemed  once 
or  twice  as  if  he  must  be  just  mentioned  if  no 
more,  an  extraordinary  reluctance  curbed  the 
utterances  of  all  three. 

Mr.  Mercer  did  indeed  once  go  so  far  as  to 
murmur  an  indistinct  allusion  to  a  '  bachelor 
neighbour,'  starting  guiltily  as  he  did  so — but 
either  the  phrase  escaped  notice,  or  excited  no 
curiosity.  Mary  was  busy  with  a  peach,  and  gave 
it  her  entire  attention. 

Again,  during  the  evening  Mrs.  Mercer,  apolo- 
gising for  the  absence  of  gaiety  in  their  surround- 
ings, found  herself  assuring  her  niece  that  a 
fortnight  before  they  had  been  gay  enough. 

"Were  you?"  said  Mary,  indifferently.  Pri- 
vately she  was  congratulating  herself.  AVhat  had 
she  not  escaped  ? 

"And  never  even  to  ask  who  we  were  gay 
with ! "  mentally  exclaimed  Sophy  Gill,  whom 
such  indifference  puzzled  and  awed.  "I  wonder 
what  she  will  say  when  she  comes  to  hear  about 

The    Puddock !      I   do    wish  —  I   do    loish " 

she  almost  felt  she  hated  The  Puddock. 

"  Yes,  fancy  meeting  a  man  I  know,  the  first 
thing  in  the  wilds!  "  ran  on  the  speaker,  for  be 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  I'd'S 

it  remembered,  she  had  only  stopped  to  nod 
towards  the  pheasant,  "  and  the  funny  thing  was 
that  he  didn't  know  me;"  looking  round  for 
astonishment.  "He  called  me  '  Miss  Arthur' — 
it  isn't  unlike  '  Harborough,'  the  sound  isn't.  I 
remembered  afterwards  that  he  had  called  me 
'  Miss  Arthur '  all  the  day  we  spent  together. 
It  was  a  river  day,  and  there  were  a  lot  of  people. 
Well,  when  I  saw  him  now,  I  said  '  Hollo,  Sir 
Patrick !  '  for  I  knew  him  in  a  second,  and  I  do 
think  it  was  rather  sharp  of  me,  considering  I 
never  saw  him  afterwards,  and  it  is  months  ago. 
quite  early  in  the  season  it  was, — but  I  assure 
you,  uncle  Jo,  he  nearly  had  a  fit :  "  laughing  at 
the  recollection,  as  she  helped,  herself  to  potatoes. 

"  And   when    he    found    I   was    your    niece,' 
continued  she, 

"How  did  you  never  tell  us  you  knew  him?" 
Mr.  Mercer  had  planted  a  heavy  hand  upon  the 
table  on  either  side  of  his  plate ;  and  with  a  frown 
upon  his  brow,  put  the  interrogation  as  a  judge 
might  ask  a  criminal  what  he  had  to  say  before 
the  black  cap  was  put  on. 

Mrs.  Mercer  was  breathing  rapidly  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table,  and  Sophy  the  picture  of  self- 
consciousness,  blushed  all  over. 


134  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  I  think  it  is  very  strange  you  should  never 
have  told  us  you  knew  Sir  Patrick,"  proceeded 
Jonathan,  solemnly. 

"Is  it?  Let  me  see.  Why  didn't  I?  I'm 
sure  I  can't  imagine;  "  contentedly  eating  away. 

"  You  knew  he  lived  here." 

"No,  that  I  didn't.  Stop  a  bit  though,  I 
believe  I  did." 

"  On  this  very  island.  Within  four  miles  of 
this  house, " 

"  But  I  forgot,  uncle.  And  I  didn't  know  about 
the  miles,  anyway." 

"Forgot?  All  this  time?"  said  Jonathan, 
incredulously.  His  own  memory  was  as  de- 
pendable as  a  rock. 

"  You  can't  call  it  'All  this  time,'  "  pleaded  she. 
"  I  saw  the  man  once ;  and  he  thought  I  was 
'  Miss  Arthur ' ;  so  he  was  worse  than  I  anyhow," 
laughing  again. 

"But  did  he  not  tell  you  Kinellan  was  near 
Losca?"  persisted  her  uncle,  reddening  a  little. 
Perhaps  Sir  Patrick  had  not  cared  to  mention  the 
fact. 

"  Oh,  he  might — but  I  don't  see  why  he  should. 
He  knew  nothing  about  me  and  Losca.  Don't 
you   see  he  thought  I  was  *  Miss  Arthur,'   (this 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  135 

had  stuck  by  her)  and  what  had  a  '  Miss  Arthur  ' 
to  do  with  a  Mr.  Mercer?"  merrily.  "We  just 
met  and  made  friends,  as  people  in  London  do, 
for  the  day.  I  remember  he  was  awfully  gone  on 
me— his  '  Miss  Arthur.'  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  him  your  name ; "  said 
Jonathan,  surlily.  "  I've  no  notion  of  girls  liking 
to  be  called  by  wrong  names."  His  sense  of 
honesty  was  affronted ;  and  besides,  was  there 
not  a  certain  disrespect  towards  Miss  liar- 
borough,  the  great  Miss  Harborough,  conveyed 
in  her  being  thus  unrecognised  and  undistin- 
guished ? 

"  Well,  I  never  said  I  liked  it,  uncle;"  said  the 
beauty,  placidly.    "  I  couldn't  stop  it,  you  know." 

"You — couldn't  stop  it?"  He  was  more  and 
more  surprised. 

"  Oh,  no.  No,  I  couldn't."  Mary  shook  her 
head.  Then,  as  he  still  stared  at  her,  open- 
mouthed.  "  It  w^ould  have  spoilt  the  joke,  you 
know;"  she  explained. 

"  Pon  my  word  I — do  you  see  the  joke,  ma'am  ?  " 
Suddenly  Mr.  Mercer  appealed  to  his  wife,  his 
look  saying  ' '  Ought  I  not  to  be  angry  ?  Are  you 
angry?" 

Had  it  been  any  one  but  Mary  he  would  have 


136  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

been  angry  on  the  spot ;  for  a  millionaire  is  a 
millionaire,  and  it  is  not  seemly  that  indignity 
should  be  offered  to  any  one  connected  with 
him,  of  which  indignity  Sir  Patrick  had  surely, 
if  unconsciously,  been  guilty — but  as  it  was,  he 
was  uneasily  anxious  to  be  backed  up. 

"  Eh  ?     Do  you  see  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 

A  new  voice,  however,  intervened.  "Why,/ 
see  it,"  cried  Sophy  Gill,  shrilly.  "  I  think  it 
must  have  been  splendid.  Do  tell  us  the  rest? 
Did  he  call  you  '  Miss  Arthur  '  to-day  ?  And  did 
you  call  him " 

"Hoots — nonsense!"  said  Jonathan,  gruffly, 
his  temper  was  now  roused,  "  I  beg  your  pardon. 
Miss  Sophy,  but  you  must  excuse  my  saying  that 
I  know  the  ways  of  the  world  a  little  better  than 
you  do" — for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  help  a 
slight  accentuation  on  the  'You' — "and  I  think, 
begging  your  pardon  next,  Mary,  that  you  were — 
were — that  it  was  a  bit  of  foohshness " 

"  I  daresay,  but  it  made  a  joke."  Mary  nodded 
at  him.  "You  don't  know  how  thankful  we  are 
for  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  joke,  in  Town  ;  we 
simply  scream  at  nothing.  ^Vhenever  Sir  Pat- 
rick said  '  Miss  Arthur '  the  girls  screamed  to 
each  other," 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  137 

"What  girls  were  they,  my  dear?"  Mrs. 
Mercer  saw  a  hope  of  diverting  the  argument, 
and  seized  upon  it. 

"  The  De  Vesci  girls,  aunt.  Lord  De  Vesci  is 
something  or  other  to  Sir  Patrick." 

"And  he  was  staying  with  them  ?  "  The  old 
lady  glanced  at  her  husband  whose  opinion  of 
the  screaming  girls  would  now  have  to  be  re-con- 
sidered. It  was  obvious  that  he  had  been  on  the 
brink  of  delivering  it. 

"I  don't  know;"  said  Mary,  indifferently. 
"  They  brought  him ;  but  I  don't  know  where 
they  picked  him  up." 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  was  a  relation  ?  " 

"  Some  one  said  so.  I  don't  know."  The 
cross  -  examination  was  beginning  to  bore 
her. 

"But  mayn't  we  hear  about  to-day?"  mur- 
mured Sophy,  in  subdued  accents.  She  had 
been  snubbed,  but  she  could  stand  snubbing ;  and 
she  was  dying  to  know,  not  whether  an  old 
bygone  mistake  was  funny  or  not,  but  what 
Sir  Patrick  had  said  that  day,  how  he  had  looked, 
what  Mary  had  thought  of  Inm,  and  in  particular 
if  anything  about  herself  had  passed  between  the 
two  ? 


138  SIR   PATEICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

If  people  would  ramble  off  to  other  points, 
how  was  she  ever  to  get  this  out  of  Mary? 

But  now  was  her  time ;  the  old  people  were 
obviously  impressed,  and  their  questions  at  a 
standstill,  while  a  shade  of  impatience  which 
had  manifested  itself  upon  the  brow  of  their 
niece  told  its  own  tale.  She  had  come  in  full  of 
narration  and  it  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud, — 
what  narrator  would  not  resent  this  ? 

Moreover  Mary  had  a  lively  tongue  and  was 
used  to  the  run  of  it ;  it  was  the  one  bond 
between  her  and  her  mother  that  there  was 
frank,  unrestrained  intercourse  between  them, 
and  that  even  when  they  differed,  not  to  say 
bickered  on  occasion,  they  had  it  out,  as  the 
saying  is,  and  nothing  rankled. 

"  Do  let  me  tell  my  tale;"  was  therefore  plainly 
written  now  on  our  young  lady's  face,  and  Sophy 
saw  it  and  sympathised  with  it.  Accordingly  ; 
her  "Mayn't  we  hear?"  breathed  across  the  table, 
came  at  the  right  moment  and  took  instant  effect. 

"  I  had  got  to  I  don't  know  where,"  said  Mary; 
"  I  just  followed  my  nose,  and  went  straight  on 
away  from  here.  It  didn't  matter  where,  I  said  to 
myself ;  I'll  go  where  the  road  goes.  It  appears 
there  is  only  one  road " 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  139 

"  Did  you  expect  a  dozen  ?  "  The  interruption 
of  course  was  Jonathan's. 

"  Now,  uncle,  do  be  quiet.  You  have  banged 
into  me  enough  already,  and  if  you  don't  lei  me 
alone,  I'll  come  round  and  hit  you.  No,  of 
course  I  didn't  expect  a  dozen,  but  there's  a 
difference  between  a  dozen  and  one.  However, 
it's  a  good  road,  though  I  thought  it  would  never 
end " 

"  Naturally,  as  it  runs  round  the  island." 

"  There  you  are  again  !  You  won't  be  quiet, 
sir  ?  "  threatening  to  rise.  "  A  plate  at  your  head 
will  be  the  next  thing;  "  seizing  one. 

He  apologised,  and  she  proceeded. 

"  On  and  on  I  went — yes,  I  know  you're  going 
to  say  something  but  you'd  better  not,  plate's 
coming  if  you  do — and  at  last  after  a  terrific  hill 
— plate  sir,  plate — when  I  had  struggled  to  the 
top  and  was  dead-beat,  what  did  I  behold  to 
make  me  forget  all  my  woes  and  toils,  but" — 
she  paused  and  cast  her  eyes  round  on  each  in 
turn — "  Guess,"  she  cried. 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  the  lodge  gates  of  Kinellau 
House?"   observed  Mrs.  Mercer,  demurely. 

"Lodge  gates?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Stop, 
though.     1  might  have  seen  them  ;  I  saw  them 


140  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOGK 

afterwards.  But  anyhow  they're  not  what  I 
mean.     Guess,  again." 

"  You  saw  the  sea  on  the  other  side,  if  your 
hill  is  the  hill  it  ought  to  be,"  said  her  uncle. 
"  By  the  fuss  you  make  about  it " 

"Plate,  sir.  Take  care.  /  make  a  fuss? 
Any  one  would  have  made  a  fuss.  The  sea  ? 
Well,  I  daresay  I  did  see  the  sea — but  the  sea's 
no  catch,  there's  plenty  of  the  sea  about.  Now 
you  guess,"  to  Sophy.  "  Third  time's  lucky. 
You'll  hit  the  mark." 

"You  saw  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan,"  quotli  Sophy, 
promptly,  having  divined  as  much  all  along. 

"  Hum  !  You  had  nothing  left  but  Sir  Pat.  I 
ought  not  to  have  given  you  the  lead  over. 
There  he  was.  At  first,  though,  I  only  saw  it 
was  a  man.  A  man !  And  I  hadn't  met  a  soul 
since  I  started.  I  would  have  spoken  to  that 
man  if  he  had  been  a  wild  man  of  the  woods,  or 
the  man  in  the  moon " 

"  Bet  you  would ;  "  muttered  Jonathan,  a  little 
vexed  with  her. 

She  was  letting  herself  down,  he  thought.  Miss 
Mary  Harborough  should  have  gathered  up  her 
skirts  as  she  passed  a  stranger,  held  to  the  other 
side  of  the  road,  kept  her  eyes  front,  and  her  lips 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   AVILDS  141 

pursed.  He  was  beginning  to  understand  as  he 
had  never  done  before,  sundry  hints  let  fall  by 
Mary's  mother  in  the  old  days. 

"  So  you  ran  full  tilt  at  Sir  Patrick  ?  "  said  he, 
eyeing  her. 

"  Full  tilt,  indeed.  As  soon  as  I  saw  who  it 
was,  my  nice  little  man  who  called  me  '  Miss 
Arthur '  I  jumped  right  up  into  the  air.  It  was 
such  fun.  I  daresay  if  I  had  met  him  at  Hom- 
burg,  or  Kome,  or  even  at  Cairo,  I  shouldn't  have 
bothered  to  remember  him — there  would  have 
been  no  need,  you  know — you  may  or  you  mayn't, 
just  as  you  like — if  a  man  has  bored  you,  all  you've 
to  do  is  to  look  blank  at  him,  and  ten  to  one  he 
won't  have  the  pluck  to  introduce  himself  again, 
— it's  all  right,  uncle,  every  one  does  it, — but  if 
you  want  to  know  him,  you  can  call  out  as  I  did 
'  Hollo,'  and  then  he  understands  at  once." 

"  Queer  things,  London  manners." 

"  Plate,  sir.  Don't  abuse  London  manners. 
They're  my  manners,  and  I'm  your  niece.  You 
let  my  London  manners  alone.  They  went  down 
with  Sir  Pat  anyway." 

No  one  at  Losca  ever  called  Sir  Patrick  '  Sir 
Pat.' 

"  How   do   you   know   they   went   down    with 


142  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

him  ? "  (More  likely  your  pretty  face  went 
down  with  him !) 

"  He  was  happy  to  meet,  sorry  to  part,  and 
would  be  very  very  happy  to  meet  again,"  cried 
she,  gaily.  "  I'm  awfully  witty  to-day.  Sophy's 
quite  struck  with  me." 

*  Sophy '  and  *  Mary  '  had  been  arranged  the 
night  before.  "It's  no  use  holding  a  girl  at 
arms  length  with  a  fortnight  of  her  and  no  one 
else,  before  you,"  decided  the  latter;  "Sophy," 
continued  she  now,  "I'll  make  you  a  present  of  all 
these  clever  sayings.  They're  not  my  own,  my 
dear,  so  you  may  as  well  have  them  after  me  as 
not.  There'll  be  a  Clearance  Sale  the  day  I  leave, 
and  you  can  get  the  lot  at  an  overwhelming 
reduction.  There  I  am  again.  That's  the  last 
phrase  of  the  sales — '  Overwhelming  reductions.' 
And  I  say,  aunt,"  turning  to  her,  "  what  do  you 
think  the  '  Overwhelming  reductions  '  in  Bond 
Street  amounted  to?  Just  double  the  ordinary 
price  in  any  other  part  ?  " 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  Sir  Patrick's  being  pleased 
to  meet  you,"  drily  interrupted  Mr.  Mercer. 
"  You'd  be  a  perfect  god-send  to  a  man  like  him." 

"What  do  you  mean,  uncle?"  colouring  a 
Httle. 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  143 

"A  chatterbox  and  a — mute." 

"  Mute  '?  He's  not  a  mute.  He's  a  little  dear. 
And  if  I  am  a  chatterbox  I  seem  to  have  come  to 
the  right  place  " — then  checking  herself,  "  if  you 
don't  wish  me  to  talk,  you  might  have  said  so 
before.  I  thought  you  liked  it.  You  used  to  like 
it." 

"  Well,  well ;  "  said  he,  peaceably. 

"  Well,  well?  What  do  you  mean  by  '  Well, 
well '  ?  Am  I  to  be  quiet,  or  am  I  not  ?  I  can 
hold  my  tongue  as  well  as  other  people " 

"I  doubt  it,  Mary." 

"And  he  wouldn't  like  you  to  do  it,  either, 
Mary."  The  quick  interposition  was  his  wife's. 
"  Your  uncle  is  only  teasing.  He  loves  to  be 
waked  up.  And  we  are  old-fashioned  people,  and 
sleepy.  Poor  Sophy  has  had  a  dull  time  of  it 
lately  with  only  us  two ;  and  I'm  sure  none  of  us 
would  like  you  to  hold  your  tongue,  my  dear;" 
reaching  out  a  hand  to  pat  the  other  hand. 

The  other  hand  turned  round  and  clasped  it. 

"  I  felt  quite  savage,"  said  Mary,  looking  at  her 
aunt  with  soft,  beautiful  eyes.  "  There's  only 
one  thing  that  really  makes  me  savage,  and  it's  to 
be  called  a  chatterbox.  I  felt  as  savage  as  a 
bear." 


144  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

("  Good  Lord  !  "  whispered  Jonathan  to  himself. 
"A  bear!  ") 

"Well,  what  said  Sir  Patrick  to  the  bear?" 
inquired  he,  withdrawing  his  gaze. 

"  "We  shall  get  to  it  at  last !  "  muttered  Sophy 
Gill. 

"  Sir  Patrick  ?  Oh,"  said  Mary,  starting  afresh, 
"  Sir  Patrick  simply  howled  for  joy.  I  suppose 
nothing  like  it  had  ever  happened  in  his  life  before. 
His  eyes  were  like  saucers  by  the  time  I  got  within 
range ;  and  when  I  said  '  Hollo  I  '  he  had  off  his 
cap,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  and  showed  his  nice, 
thick,  curly  hair,  and — and — let  me  see,  where 
was  I?" 

"  Where  Sir  Patrick  howled  for  joy,"  said  her 
uncle,  gravely. 

"  And  stuttered  and  stammered.  But  I  say,  he 
does  look  awfully  well  in  a  kilt.  It's  an  enormous 
improvement ' ' 

("  What  must  he  look  like  out  of  it  ?  "  Internal 
comment  on  the  part  of  Sophy.) 

"I've  seen  lots  of  men  in  the  kilt,"  proceeded 
the  narrator,  "  but  only  a  few  of  them  know  how 
to  wear  it.  /  know — though  I'm  only  a  girl,  and 
an  English  one.  But  there  are  some  Macdonalds 
we  know,  whose  brothers  are  all  kilties  directly 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  145 

they  are  at  their  own  place  ;  and  we've  stayed 
there  ;  and  they  told  me  about  it.  They  look 
awfully  handsome  in  their  kilts." 

"  Do  they  ?  "  ejaculated  Sophy,  drinking 
it  in. 

("  But  we  can't  have  a  mere  Macdonald  brother 
for  you,"  reflected  Jonathan.) 

Aloud :  "So  you  thought  Sir  Patrick  —  he's 
not  considered  much  to  look  at  about  here — 
but  you  thought ?" 

"I  thought  he  looked  very  nice.  As  broad  as 
he's  long — and  so  strong  looking.  A  little  High- 
land bull.  All  that  dark,  curly  hair  on  his 
forehead  too.  And  isn't  he  burnt  ?  I  never 
saw  such  a  colour." 

"Now  that  I  think  of  it,  Sir  Patrick  certainly 
is  very  brown  and  red,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer.  "  It's 
the  outdoor  life  he  leads  ;  but  I  don't  think  it 
unbecoming." 

.  "  We  jabbered  away  at  each  other  as  fast  as  we 
could  speak — at  least  I  did,  while  he  stood  with 
his  cap  in  his  hand.  Does  he  always  stand  with 
his  cap  in  his  hand  when  you  meet  him  '> " 

"  Does  he  '?  "  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  looking  at  her 
husband. 

"  Not  to  me  ;  "  said  he,  grinning. 
11 


146  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Then  both  looked  at  Sophy,  but  Sophy  said 
nothing.  She  knew  in  her  heart  that  he  had  not 
to  her  either. 

"  I  expect  he  was  rather  dmnb-fouudered,"  said 
Mary,  hghtly  ;  "  it  was  surprising,  you  know. 
There  we  were,  with  miles  and  miles  of  nobody 
and  nothing  on  both  sides  ;  and  he  had  only  seen 
me  in  all  the  hurly-burly  of  the  river,  and " 

"  And  as  '  Miss  Arthur  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  soon  put  that  right,"  said  she.  "  I  said 
'  Come  now,  Sir  Patrick,  haven't  you  found  out 
by  this  time  ?  Why,  we  were  all  laughing  at 
you.'  He  didn't  seem  to  see  that  there  was 
anything  to  laugh  at." 

"  You  told  him  who  you  were  ?  " 

"  And  I  said  I  had  come  here  to  stay,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it." 

"  He  showed  you  Kinellan  ?  " 

"Where  it  was;  and  the  gates  you,"  to  her 
aunt,  "  spoke  about.  There  wasn't  time  to  go 
further.  He  promised  to  invite  us  though  ;  for 
I  fished  for  it.  I  told  him  I  knew  Selina — I 
didn't  say  I  was  thankful  she  wasn't  here — but 
I  asked  after  her  with  decent  civility  ;  and  when 
he  regretted  that  I  had  not  come  during  her  visit 
— I  don't  believe  he  was  regretting  a  bit  in  his 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  147 

heart,  but  he  had  to  pretend — somehow  between 
us  we  managed  to  make  out  that  I  could  get 
inside  the  old  house,  even  without  that  horrid 
little  woman's  help." 

"  You  don't  like  her,  then?  " 

"  Can't  stand  her,  uncle, — ugh  !  " 

"  And  we  have  dined  there  since  she  left ; " 
chimed  in  Mrs.  Mercer,  on  the  fidget  to  say  it. 
"  And  I'm  sure  I  for  one  enjoyed  my  dinner  ever 
so  much  more  than  when  I  had  to  sit  up  with 
that  proud-looking  little  minx  afterwards.  The 
way  she  looks  at  us  all,  over  the  top  of  her 
cheeks,  as  if  we  were  the  dirt  of  the  earth !  " 

But  this  would  never  do.  "  Hut — nonsense. 
Mary  will  think  she  has  been  rude  to  you." 
Jonathan,  with  a  frown  at  his  wife,  glanced 
towards  his  niece,  who  smiled  cheerfully. 

"  I  daresay  she  was.  She  wouldn't  be  Selina 
Kinellan  if  she  weren't.  Selina  is  a  little  horror ; 
I  won't  have  her  at  any  price.  She  truckles  to 
mother,  and  sits  in  her  pocket,  because  she  likes 
to  drive  with  us  to  Hurlingham  and  lunch  at  our 
table  at  '  Lord's,'  but " 

"  She  never  let  on  to  me  that  she  knew  you ; " 
exclaimed  he,  wondering  what  next  ? 

"That's  her  slyness.     She  wanted  to  be  nasty 


148  SIR   PATRICK  :    THE   PUDDOCK 

to  you  here,  so  she  kept  it  dark  that  she  cringes 
to  us  in  Town.  I  say,  uncle  Jo,  if  she  knew  that 
you  run  us " 

"Never  mind — never  mind,"  said  he,  hastily. 
This  would  never  do  for  Sophy's  ears. 

"Wouldn't  she  have  wheeled  about  sharp?" 
said   Mary,  laughing,    "  oh,    I    don't    mind    her 

hearing "  loud  enough  for  every  one  to  hear. 

"And  you  trust  me  to  take  it  out  of  Selina,  next 
time  I  get  the  chance.  She  won't  give  me  a 
chance  if  she  can  help  it.  You  see,  we  only  meet 
in  the  season ;  and  then  we  talk  of  nothing  but 
what  is  on  that  day  or  the  day  before ;  and  it's 
nothing  to  us  who's  who — out  of  Town,  at  least — 
it's  only  a  few  of  the  very,  very  wily  ones  who 
look  ahead,  and  remember  that  there  will  be 
people  to  meet  and  places  to  go  to  when  London's 
over.  My  mother  does;  and  I  suppose  other 
mothers  do  ;  but  we  girls  never  think  of  it." 

("  You  would  though,  if  you  were  poor,  and  glad 
to  go  anywhere,"  thought  poor  Sophy,  jealously.) 

"You're  just  a  spoilt  thing,"  said  Jonathan, 
aloud.  Her  simplicity,  artlessness,  and  incon- 
sequence puzzled  him.  She  would  not  be  '  fine,' 
she  would  not  be  '  grand,'  he  could  not  get  her 
to  patronise  Sophy  and  keep  her  at  a  distance, — 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  149 

and  yet  she  talked — how  easily,  how  pleasantly 
she  talked — of  *  taking  it  out '  of  the  haughty, 
impertinent  Mrs.  Kinellan,  who  had  had  it  all  her 
own  way  so  far,  and  against  whom  he  and  his  felt 
powerless. 

He  began  to  perceive  something  in  all  this 
beyond  his  ken. 

It  would  not,  however,  do  to  let  this  appear. 
"Well,  I  suppose  Sir  Patrick  was  at  your  mercy;" 
proceeded  he,  after  a  pause.  "  If  you  had  made 
up  your  mind  to  get  inside  Kinellan,  he  wouldn't 
be  able  to  keep  you  out  ?  " 

"  Eather  not.  If  I  couldn't  boss  him  I  should 
be  ashamed.  But  as  it  happens,  he  does  not 
want  to  keep  me  out — not  by  any  manner  of 
means.  His  little  hospitable  soul  swelled  with 
rapture  when  I  said  I  was  coming  to  look  him 
up " 

"  Gracious,  Mary  !  "  Mary's  aunt  felt  her  head 
whirling  round. 

"  So  I  am,  dear — with  you,  of  course.  We're 
all  going.  He  is  coming  over  to  ask  us ; — I  told 
him  not  to  mind,  for  that  I  would  take  a  message 
— but  he  loould  come.  That  was  his  manners, 
dear  little  gentleman." 

"  When  is  he  coming  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Mercer. 


150  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  Some  time  to-day.  But  I  told  him  I  didn't 
know  if  we  should  be  in,  and  he  must  take  his 
chance.  Of  course  I  couldn't  answer  for  you, 
and  I  had  an  idea  of  something  else  for  myself. 
Sophy,  there  is  going  to  be  a  tremendously  low 
tide,  let's  go  down,  and  wade,  and  look  for  things  ? 
When  I  was  at  Glengyllachan — such  a  jolly  place 
in  Skye — we  went  there  one  year  about  this  time 
— no,  it  wasn't  this  time,  but  it  was  some  time— 
and  there  were  '  Spring  tides '  as  they  called  them. 
Funny,  wasn't  it?  '  Spring  tides,'  and  I  know  it 
was  autumn !  For  of  course  no  one  goes  to  the 
Highlands  except  in  the  autumn  : — anyhow  there 
were  the  tides,  and  there  was  me,  and  it  was  very 
perfectly  glorious.  I  was  out  morning,  noon,  and 
night.  I  just  lived  on  that  shore  ;  and  you  never 
saw  anything  like  the  things  I  brought  in." 

"What  sort  of  things?"  She  was  so  pretty 
and  so  animated,  and  there  was  something  so 
fresh  and  wholesome  and  natural  in  her  gay 
prattle,  that  all  the  vexation  with  which  her 
uncle  had  hearkened  at  the  outset,  was  fast  dying 
out  of  his  breast,  while  the  old  pride  and  affec- 
tion were  in  full  force.  His  own  eyes  brightened 
as  they  reflected  something  of  the  sparkling  light 
in  hers. 


A   MEETING    IN   THE   WILDS  151 

"  I  daresay  they  did  not  amount  to  much,"  said 
she  :  "I  threw  them  away  afterwards, — but  they 
were  perfect  darhngs  at  the  time.  It  was  the 
hunting  for  them  that  I  Hked.  The  wading  and 
shpping  about  on  the  great  sea- weedy  rocks,  and 
the  runs  over  the  sand  between.  And  there  were 
heaps  and  heaps  of  shells.  Great  shining  shells  ; 
and  then  such  little,  tiny  ones  !  Every  sort  of 
pink  and  yellow,  some  of  them  were, — but  I  liked 
the  white  ones  best.  I  kept  them  for  ever  so 
long.  Then  I  gave  them  to  a  hospital — so  you 
see  they  did  some  good,  uncle.  I  promised  to  get 
some  more  too,  so  now's  the  chance ;  Sophy, 
we'll  get  a  lot.  We'll  simply  get  buckets  full ; 
and  I  can  take  them  back  with  me.  I  never 
thought  of  it  till  now " 

"  Forgot  your  promise,  did  you,  miss  '?  " 

"Why,  yes,  uncle.  I  couldn't  help  forgetting, 
could  I  ?  There  are  such  lots  of  things  to  re- 
member. But  sometimes  I  wish  I  did  not  hve  in 
London,"  said  Mary,  thoughtfully;  "for  then  I 
should  not  have  things  crowded  out  as  they  are 
now." 

"  People  do  tell  me  that  of  London,"  began  her 
aunt  in  confirmation. 

"  Oh,  it's  true,  aunt;  indeed  it  is.     I  shouldn't 


152  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

be  half  such  a  giddy-goat  if  I  lived  anywhere  else. 
And  I  like  other  places  just  as  well,  or  better. 
When  I'm  away  from  it  all,  I  never  want  to  go 
back  ;  at  least  I  suppose  I  should  like  a  little  bit 

of  a  rush  every  now  and  then  in  the  season " 

"  The  season  must  be  splendid,"  cried  Sophy, 
irrepressibly.  "1  would  give  anything  in  the 
world  to  go  to  London  in  the  season." 

Miss  Harborough  glanced  at  her,  opened  her 
lips,  and  shut  them  again,  but  a  half  smile  played 
upon  their  corners.  For  a  moment  she  was  back 
in  her  own  set,  and  looking  at  poor  Sophy  Gill 
through  the  reverse  end  of  the  telescope. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  can  amuse  yourself  out  of 
London  at  any  rate;"  said  Mr.  Mercer,  rising 
from  the  table. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  to  wait  for  any  one 
when  he  had  finished  what  was  on  his  own  plate ; 
and  as  he  had  done  but  little  talking  he  had  eaten 
all  he  wanted  some  time  before,  and  only  lingered 
because  sufficiently  well  entertained. 

But  now  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and  ad- 
dressed his  niece  in  parting  accents.  "  I  suppose 
it  was  Sir  Patrick  who  told  you  about  the  tide  ? 
He  is  great  on  weather  and  tides,  and  your  aunt 
pins  her   faith   upon   him.      But   I  daresay  we 


A   MEETING   IN   THE   WILDS  153 

might  have  been  able  to  know  without  consulting 
him,  that  considering  the  tide  was  up  to  the  top 
of  the  shingle  this  morning,  it  will  be  down  as  far 
as  it  can  go  this  afternoon.  I  may  sometimes 
be  able  to  tell  you  a  thing  or  two  of  that  sort 
if  you  ask  me,  Mary." 

"  I'll  ask  you  ;  no  fears,  uncle.  Are  you  coming 
with  us?  " 

He  promised  to  go  another  time. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   WHITE  PARASOL 

T7INELLAN  HOUSE,  deep  set  in  a  rugged 
glen,  and  fronting  a  lonely  western  sea  as 
its  only  outlook,  was  not  perhaps  the  most 
desirable  spot  in  the  world  to  fall  back  upon 
supposing  one  to  have  met  with  a  buffet  from 
Fate  in  any  of  its  varied  shapes. 

Yet  thither  returned,  straight  as  an  arrow  to 
its  mark,  a  man  who  in  the  full  efHorescence 
of  the  year,  when  all  the  world  was  in  its 
glory,  had  learned  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
what  it  was  to  have  the  deep  and  hitherto  dumb 
chords  of  his  being,  struck,  and  struck  in  vain. 

For  many  years  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan  had  pur- 
sued the  even  tenor  of  his  way  contentedly 
enough.  Dwelling  among  his  own  people, 
making    their    interests    his,    finding    sufficient 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  155 

occupation  in  the  management  of  his  estate, 
and  recreation  in  hobbies  of  one  kind  and 
another,  he  never  consciously  found  the  time 
long  nor  the  days  dull ;  while  it  only  needed 
the  memory  of  a  thwarted,  cramped,  and  un- 
happy childhood,  joined  to  the  sight  of  his 
brother's  conjugal  infelicity,  to  make  him  hug 
himself  in  his  present  freedom  from  every  dis- 
turbing influence. 

He  now  no  longer  dreaded  to  speak  lest  he 
should  be  chidden.  The  habit  of  silence,  it  is 
true,  had  gained  upon  him ;  having  had  its  seeds 
sown  in  days  when  to  put  forward  an  opinion  was 
to  be  sharply  corrected,  or  sarcastically  quoted — 
but,  perhaps  because  of  the  very  fact  that  his 
words  were  few,  they  were  listened  to  with  even 
more  respect  than  those  of  most  other  men ;  and 
it  was  not  only  his  own  dependents  and  retainers 
who  waited  deferentially  when  it  was  seen  that 
yir  Patrick  Kinellan  was  about  to  speak. 

Moreover  he  was  not  merely  esteemed,  he  was 
beloved.  When  one  is  beloved  one  cannot  help 
knowing  it.  Sir  Patrick,  go  where  he  would, 
never  felt  himself  an  intruder;  never  saw  a 
shadow  cross  the  brow  at  his  approach ;  never 
saw  the  school-children  who  streamed  over  the 


156  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

road,  playing  games  as  they  went,  gather  to- 
gether and  whisper  as  they  passed  him. 

Instead,  they  would  boldly  place  themselves  in 
his  way,  grinning  into  his  face  ;  and  the  saluting 
and  bobbing  would  go  on  coji  amore  all  the  time 
he  was  addressing,  as  he  invariably  did  address, 
the  favoured  ones. 

It  was  only  the  most  villainous  poacher  on  the 
place  who  sneaked  out  of  sight  if  the  laird  came 
by,  and  of  Lachlan  Maclachlan  the  following  tale 
is  still  told. 

Sir  Patrick,  out  on  the  prowl  for  evil  spirits, 
and  with  Lachy  specially  in  view  on  one  dark, 
tempestuous  night,  had  sighted  that  worthy  at 
his  nefarious  trade,  and  started  in  hot  pursuit. 
Lachy,  albeit  fleeter  of  foot,  being  heavily 
weighted  with  plunder,  might  have  been  over- 
taken, indeed  Sir  Patrick  already  saw  him  within 
his  triumphant  grasp,  when  a  branch  caught  the 
latter's  foot,  and  he  fell  with  a  crash. 

The  poacher  heard  the  crash,  and  saw  his  land- 
lord— for  he  was  one  of  Sir  Patrick's  own  tenants 
— lie  motionless.  In  another  moment  he  was 
back,  and  by  the  side  of  the  fallen  figure. 

On  regaining  consciousness,  for  he  had  been 
momentarilv    stunned,    the   laird   found   himself 


A   WHITE   PARASOL  157 

being  tenderly  cared  for  and  his  hurts  anxiously- 
investigated. 

"  Ye're  no  hurt?  Are  ye  hurt?  Stop  a 
wee, — "  Some  whisky  was  poured  cannily  down 
his  throat.  "  Oo,  Sir  Pathrick, — "  the  big  fellow 
was  nearly  blubbering,  "A  thocht  ye  wad  be 
deid."  Hares  and  rabbits  lay  openly  on  the 
ground,  unheeded. 

"  Let  them  be  ;  "  said  Lachy,  calmly.  "  Tak 
ma  airm.     Or  wull  I  carry  ye?" 

But  Sir  Patrick  walked  home,  leaning  on  a 
friendly  arm,  and  lived  to  resume  the  chase  at  a 
more  convenient  season.  Nothing  was  ever  said 
about  that  night's  work. 

"A  wadna  yon  wee  man  had  been  hurt  rinnin 
after  me  for  a'  the  hares  in  Mull,"  Lachy  would 
allege,  with  perfect  goodwill,  and  poached  away, 
owing  no  grudge ;  convinced,  moreover,  that  none 
was  owing  on  the  other's  part. 
-  None  of  the  neighbouring  proprietors  wintered 
at  their  Highland  homes,  and  sorely  would  the 
'  wee  man '  have  been  missed,  had  he,  too,  be- 
taken himself  off  directly  the  New  Year  set  in, 
as  did  all  who  had  not  gone  before  then. 

Sir  Patrick  saw  the  short,  dark  days  out ;  and  it 
was  only  when  April  airs  began  to  fan  the  gloomy 


158  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

braes  into  springing  life  once  more,  that  he  would 
make  his  brief  yearly  disappearance.  He  would 
pay  a  few  visits,  see  a  race  or  two  run,  and  wind 
up  with  London,  where  one  June  day,  in  the  year 
of  which  we  write,  he  underwent  the  experience 
which  was  to  affect  his  whole  future  life. 

How  little  it  was  to  her — how  much  to  him  ! 

A  London  girl,  taking  a  day  off  in  the  midst  of 
her  whirl,  glad  to  breathe  the  pure  air  of  the 
country  after  a  late  ball,  and  even  while  gazing  on 
green  pastures  and  still  waters  eagerly  fitting  in 
the  future  pieces  of  the  feverish  panorama  with 
companions  equally  athirst  for  the  fray,  equally 
resolute  not  to  let  a  drop  be  left  undrunk  of 
pleasure's  cup — what  to  the  giddy  young  creature 
with  the  world  hemming  her  in  at  every  point, 
pleading  for  her  favour,  competing  for  her  smiles, 
were  those  hours  of  bewildering  enchantment 
which  woke  in  him  a  new  and  hitherto  undreamed 
of  existence  ? 

Sir  Patrick  had  been  asked  at  the  last  moment 
to  join  the  river  party  of  which  Mary  Harborough 
was  the  raison  d'etre. 

He  had  gone  solemnly  to  call  at  Lord  De 
Vesci's  house, — he  always  made  a  point  of  going 
a  round  of  solemn,  relationly  calls  on  first  arriv- 


A   WHITE    PARASOL  159 

ing  in  Town,  and  was  not  averse  to  the  dinner- 
parties which  ensued.  Otherwise  he  spent  his 
time  much  as  Sehna  said.  But  dinner  he  took 
seriously,  and  arrived  at  the  moment,  with  his 
card  of  invitation  in  his  pocket.  He  had  gone, 
we  say,  to  the  De  Vescis',  been  admitted,  and 
found  the  lady  of  the  house  alone. 

She  was  frantically  busy ;  notes  and  cards  like 
snow  bestrewed  her  writing  table,  and  the  carriage 
stood  at  the  door, — but  she  started  up  to  greet  Sir 
Patrick,  and  smiled  upon  him. 

"  You  are  just  in  time.  Come  to  my  river  party 
to-morrow." 

' '  To-morrow '?  ' '  He  had  arranged  nothing  for 
to-morrow,  meaning  to  use  it  in  his  own  way,  and 
not  anticipating  interference.  As  a  rule,  people 
did  not  ask  him  to  day  things. 

"  You  must  come.  There  is  just  room  for  one 
more.  And  we  want  a  man.  Of  course  you  can 
row." 

Kow?  He  smiled.  He  had  won  a  bump  for 
his  boat  at  Oxford  more  than  once. 

But  a  river  party  ?     He  cowered  a  httle. 

"  Now  you  are  not  to  get  off.  Providence  has 
sent  you  here  to  my  aid ;  yes,  indeed,  we  want 
you  awfully.     I  was  just  thinking  whom  I  should 


160  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

get.  Oh,  please  don't  think  that  is  the  only 
reason,  for  you  know  we  really — we  so  seldom  see 
you,  and  it  is  so  delightful  your  just  appearing  at 
this  moment.  No,  no,  I  can't  let  you  off."  And 
her  ladyship  glanced  at  the  clock.  Her  look  said 
"  Go  to-day,  and  come  to-morrow." 

"If  you  really  are  in  need  of  me?"  said  Sir 
Patrick,  feebly.  Any  one  who  was  '  really  in 
need  '  of  anything  appealed  to  him. 

"  That's  a  good  man.  That's  capital.  Then 
you'll  be  here  at  eleven — or  stop,  perhaps  you'd 
better  meet  us  at  Paddington?"  considering  a 
moment.  "  No  !  decidedly  no  ;  be  here,  and  then 
I  shall  be  sure  of  you.  You  see  by  that,  whether 
I  am  'in  need'  or  not,"  laughing.  "I  simply 
can't  let  you  off.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  caught  a 
swan.  Oh,  I  am  so  pleased,  and  I  know  you 
won't  throw  me  over  as  that  horrid  Dashleigh 
boy  has  done.  He  does  not  know  I  have  got 
Mary  Harborough,  or  he  would  have  thought 
twice  before  he  sent  this " — tearing  up  a  note 
with  malicious  energy.  "  He  does  not  care  in  the 
least  for  spoiling  our  party — rather  likes  doing  it, 
I  daresay — he  is  a  perfect  brute,  and  gives  him- 
self such  airs — that  was  why  I  would  not  tell  him 
Mary  was  coming.     Only  to  send  an  excuse  now  ! 


A   WHITE   PARASOL  161 

Isn't  it  disgusting  manners  ?  Well,  never  mind, 
we  shan't  break  our  hearts.  And  dear  Sir 
Patrick,  I  know  you  will  be  true  to  me,  won't 
you  ?  " 

What  could  Sir  Patrick  say  ?  He  took  out  his 
note  book,  and  asked  her  to  repeat  the  hour  at 
which  he  should  be  due  ? 

"  You  are  an  angel ;  "  cried  she,  enthusiastically. 

Then  he  saw  her  glance  at  the  clock  again, 
and  reach  out  a  hand  for  gloves  and  parasol  lying 
near. 

He  took  the  hint.  "  As  we  are  to  meet  so  soon 
again ?  " 

"Yes.  Dehghtful.  De  Vesci  will  be  so 
sorry  to  have  missed  you.  But  of  course  you 
will  come  and  dine  with  us.  We'll  fix  a  day 
to-morrow.  Good-bye.  I  hope  it  will  be  fine. 
And  you  won't  forget?  Eleven.  Because  we 
must  catch  the  11.40  from  Paddington,  and  we 
have  to  meet  the  rest  there,  and  that  station  is 
always  so  rush-about, — Good-bye."  The  last 
'  Good-bye '  saw  him  to  the  door. 

He  was  rather  amused  with  it  all. 

As  he  walked  away,  he  said  to  himself  that 
London  was  a  fearful  place,  you  could  not  be 
twenty-four  hours  in  it  without  finding  yourself 

12 


162  SIR   PATRICK:   THE   PUDDOCK 

launched  on  a  headlong  career  of  gaiety,  whether 
you  would  or  no. 

Of  course  a  river  party  was  not  Hke  those 
terrible  things  in  houses,  those  concerts,  balls, 
luncheons,  and  teas,  that  Selina  went  to  endlessly, 
and  that  he  had  dechned,  and  meant  to  go  on 
declining  with  unflinching  stubbornness,  —  but 
still  he  thought  he  would  say  nothing  to  Selina  of 
his  present  engagement.  He  would  not  give  her 
a  loop-hole  for  imagining  that  he  was  vulnerable. 

On  reflection  he  concluded  not  to  call  on  his 
sister-in-law  till  the  De  Vesci  affair  was  a  thing  of 
the  past.  The  De  Vescis  had  never  been  inti- 
mate with  Selina,  and  indeed  had  always  been  of 
the  few  who  preferred  himself  to  Nigel.  Nigel, 
the  popular  favourite,  had  in  his  heyday  given 
offence  here  and  there  without  a  thought,  from 
sheer  heedless  exuberance  ;  and  relations  are  quick 
to  see  when  they  are  little  accounted  of.  In  con- 
sequence, "Patrick  is  worth  a  dozen  of  that 
pampered  brat,  his  brother:"  had  been  the 
verdict  in  Chesterfield  Gardens, — and  Patrick 
thereafter  had  steadily  held  first  place  in  the 
affections  of  all  there. 

And  though  they  were  not  cousins  with  whom 
he  could  have  much  in  common,  he  liked  them 


A   WHITE   PAEASOL  163 

and  felt  at  ease  in  their  society.  Lord  De  Vesci 
and  he  talked  sport  and  agriculture  and  what  the 
country  was  coming  to ;  her  ladyship  discussed 
the  opera,  and  did  her  best  to  be  musical ;  while 
the  younger  generation  to  whom  he  was  an 
almost,  unknown  quantity,  prattled  and  voted 
him  *  A  good  sort.' 

On  the  whole,  the  lonely  man — he  always  felt 
a  trifle  lonely  during  the  first  few  days  of  his 
London  campaign  —  found  himself  insensibly 
cheered  by  the  prospect  of  being  included  in 
a  merry  party,  and  that  so  soon  after  his 
arrival. 

After  all,  when  a  man  is  in  Town  he  ought  to 
be  doing  something,  and  a  little  of  the  spirit  of 
the  hurrying  crowds  entered  into  his  breast.  He 
looked  at  his  pocket-book  and  put  it  back  again 
briskly,  hailing  a  hansom  with  the  other  hand, 
for  the  next  call  on  his  list  was  in  Aldford  Street, 
and  he  did  not  quite  know  where  Aldford  Street 
was. 

When  it  proved  to  be  nearly  round  the  corner, 
Sir  Patrick,  laughing  to  himself,  bade  the  man 
wait ;  the  day  was  hot,  and  be  his  friends  out  or 
in,  he  would  keep  the  hansom,  and  keep  himself 
cool. 


164  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Presently,  after  he  had  done  as  much  as  would 
do  for  that  day,  he  began  to  ruminate  on  his 
attire  for  the  morrow.  What  ought  it  to  be  ? 
Surely  not  frock  coat  and  top  hat  ?  Yet  if  others 
were  thus  habited,  how  awkward  to  have  assumed 
a  more  easy  outfit.  He  wished  he  had  asked 
Lady  De  Vesci.  Nothing  would  have  been 
simpler  at  the  moment,  but  to  v/rite  and  worry 
her  about  such  a  trifle  now,  seemed  not  merely 
absurd,  but  cruel.  He  recollected  the  litter  of 
notes  on  her  ladyship's  desk,  and  her  distracted 
brow. 

Should  he  go  back  to  the  house,  and  ask  to 
see  one  of  the  men  ?  Either  father  or  sons 
would  be  able  to  give  the  requisite  information ; 
and  though  a  little  ashamed  of  the  fuss  he  was 
making,  he  was  about  to  give  the  direction  when, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  a  friendly  voice  greeted 
him. 

"I  say,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  after  shaking  hands 
warmly:  "you  can  tell  me.  AVhat  does  one 
wear  at  a  river  party  ?  I  have  to  go  to  one  to- 
morrow :  "  with  a  flash  of  pride — it  seemed  so 
smart  and  fashionable,  so  entirely  the  thing  to  be 
doing,  that  he  felt  his  friend  must  wonder  how  an 
odd-looking   country  body  like   him   came  to  be 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  165 

having  such  a  fine  engagement — "  and  I  have 
never  been  to  a  thing  of  the  sort  in  my  Hfe,"  he 
concluded,  truthfully. 

"  Straw  hat  and  an  ordinary  suit,"  Colonel 
Marx  did  not  look  as  if  any  very  remarkable  state- 
ment had  been  made.  "  Jolly  on  the  river  on  a 
day  like  this." 

"Not  this  sort  of  rig,  then?"  Sir  Patrick 
glanced  down  at  himself. 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  Be  broiled  alive.  Nice  cool 
morning  suit,  the  coolest  you've  got." 

"I  see.  And — and  how  do  you  get  there?" 
This  had  been  puzzling  him. 

"  You're  not  going  with  the  people  ?  "  said  the 
colonel,  internally  commenting  :  "  Gad,  I  wouldn't 
fag  down  unless  I  were  taken  in  tow  by  the  people 
themselves." 

Sir  Patrick  however  explained. 

"  You  are  going  with  them?  "  said  Marx. 
■  "  Yes,  to  be  sure.  I  am  to  be  at  the  house  at 
eleven.  I  was  only  wondering,  my  cousin  said 
something  about  '  Paddington  station  '  and  I — 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  always  supposed,"  laughing, 
"  that  the  Thames  ran  through  London." 

"  Ha — ha — ha  !  So  you  wanted  to  get  on 
board  a  penny  boat,  with  a  blind  fiddler,  and  toot 


166  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

— toot — toot  from  side  to  side,  cheek-by- jowl  with 
all  the  East  End,  up  to  Kew,  eh?  " 

"Well  I  did  that  once,  and  enjoyed  it  very 
much,"  said  Sir  Patrick.  "  That  was  what  made 
me  wonder  about  Paddington.  I  thought  it  might 
be  some  other  river  Lady  De  Vesci  meant." 

"Lady  De  Vesci?  It's  her  party?  Oh,  no; 
it's  no  other  river ;  "  amused.  "  There's  only  one 
'  river  '  for  us  Londoners.  So  that's  your  party  ? 
Lady  De  Vesci's  ?  Another  fellow  I  know  is 
going.  At  least  he  was,  but  he's  chucked 
it " 

"  I  am  going  in  his  place." 

"  Awfully  good  of  you.  They're  lucky  to  get 
you.  The  De  Vescis  are  al]  very  well — nice 
people,  and  all  that — but  they  are  so  frightfully 
energetic.  They  expect  you  to  go  for  a  regular 
tremender  of  a  day,  and  to  row  like  blazes.  And 
they  never  come  back  till  the  last  train.  So 
Bobby  Dashleigh  says.  That's  why  he  won't  go. 
Says  his  constitution  won't  stand  it." 

"  Well,  mine  will,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  manfully. 
"And  I  am  accustomed  to  rowing  in  all  weathers." 
He  was  not  going  to  be  daunted.  "  So  now  that 
I  know  what  to  go  in,  I  shall  be  all  right.  Look 
me  up  and  dine  with  me,  will  you  ?  " 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  167 

"  Two  engagements  already,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, as  the  two  parted. 

The  next  thing  was  to  get  a  straw  hat. 
"Lincoln  and  Bennett's,"  said  our  country  cousin, 
who  always  went  to  the  best  places ;  and  once 
more  he  ensconced  himself  in  his  hansom — (by 
this  time  he  was  on  the  friendliest  terms  with 
the  driver,  who  took  him  long  rounds  to 
places  close  by,  and  mentally  doubled  the  length 
of  every  halt,  with  an  instinctive  conviction  that 
he  would  get  whatever  he  asked) — and  at  Lincoln 
and  Bennett's,  "  Now  then,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  the 
gentleman,  looking  up  from  the  pavement. 

"Seven  and  six;"  said  the  man  with  a 
gulp. 

"And  there's  a  shilling  for  yourself;  "  said  Sir 
Patrick. 

For  many  a  day  thereafter,  Cabby  kept  his 
eye  open  for  a  short,  broad  figure,  with  the 
kindly  face,  "  and  the  benev'lent  'art,"  as  he  said 
to  himself.  "Wish  us  pore  fellers  could  'appen 
on  more  o'  his  sort :  "  and  he  told  the  tale  in 
Cabbys'  shelters,  mournfully  shaking  his  head  and 
wiping  his  mouth  with  unction. 

So  that  more  eyes  than  his  were  presently  on 
the  stretch  for  the  burly  little  baronet,  and  he 


168  SIE   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

little  knew  why  every  now  and  then  a  '  prowler  ' 
would  keep  by  his  side  persistently  as  he  walked 
along,  or  draw  up  at  the  corner  of  the  pavement 
with  anxious  expectation,  all  on  the  qui  vive  if  he 
happened  to  pause  and  consider,  before  a  crowded 
crossing. 

Once  Sir  Patrick  knew  what  he  had  to  do,  there 
was  no  fear  that  he  would  not  do  it.  Colonel 
Marx  had  told  him  what  to  wear,  and  Lady  De 
Vesci  where  and  when  to  come, — so  that  though 
he  felt  somewhat  as  if  he  were  setting  foot  upon 
a  foreign  soil  without  any  very  clear  idea  of 
the  language,  the  sense  of  subdued  exhilaration 
was  still  upon  him  when  he  stepped  down  the 
broad  staircase  of  his  hotel,  and  saw  the  cool  hall, 
filled  with  pleasure-seekers  like  himself.  He  had 
wondered  for  a  moment  if  he  should  look  odd 
going  out  at  that  hour  from  that  place  in  a  straw 
hat?  Hitherto  he  had  always  gone  about  most 
punctiliously  in  correct  London  garb. 

But  it  did  not  appear  that  anything  was 
correct,  or  incorrect.  All  were  attired  to  suit 
their  several  requirements,  and  a  man  of  his  own 
age — a  man,  too,  with  looks  and  a  fine  bearing — 
sauntered  past  ere  he  had  been  two  minutes 
down,  in  a  suit  the  fac-simile  of  his  own.     He 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  169 

experienced  a  thrill  of  elation,  and  gave  no  further 
thought  to  his  appearance. 

Shall  we  weary  our  readers  if  we  give  a 
glimpse  of  the  day  which  followed,  from  point 
to  point  ? 

At  first  it  was  all  confusion,  greetings,  arrange- 
ments. Who  was  to  go  with  whom  ?  Who  had 
railway  tickets,  and  who  had  not  ?  Where  were 
the  baskets  and  wraps  ?  Then  Sir  Patrick  had 
got  into  the  wrong  carriage  with  quite  inferior 
people,  and  must  be  hauled  out  and  bundled  in 
next  door,  and  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  tell 
why. 

"The  idea  of  letting  him  go  with  them!'' 
Her  ladyship  looked  daggers  at  the  unoffending 
satellites,  who  had  done  nothing  to  deserve 
contumely,  having  only  seen  a  quiet  little  gentle- 
man standing  humbly  in  the  back-ground  and, 
meaning  to  be  civil,  indicated  a  vacant  seat  in 
■their  midst. 

Lady  De  Vesci,  however,  had  her  wits  about 
her.  She  might  dismiss  her  country  cousin 
rather  too  palpably  when  he  called  at  an  unlucky 
moment,  but  she  not  only  knew  what  Sir  Patrick 
as  Sir  Patrick  was  entitled  to,  but,  looking  upon 
him   as   the  saviour  of  her  party,  and  the  man 


170  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

who,  bidden  at  the  eleventh  hour,  had  obeyed  her 
command  without  a  demur  or  a  pretence,  she  was 
resohite  that  he  should  be  treated  handsomely. 

Accordingly  he  travelled  down  with  herself  and 
— Mary  Harborough. 

A  reason  for  this  was  given  him,  but  he  never 
could  recollect  what  it  was,  even  when  conning 
over  the  events  of  the  day,  as  he  did,  ah,  how 
often  ! 

He  was  presented  to  Miss  Arthur.  (For  con- 
venience sake,  we  will  for  the  present  call  her 
what  Sir  Patrick  did.) 

Miss  Arthur  sat  beside  her  hostess,  a  tall,  fair, 
glowing  girl,  in  the  freshest  of  white  frocks,  with 
a  foam  of  lace  about  her  throat.  Her  broad- 
brimmed  hat  was  also  trimmed  with  white ;  her 
complexion  could  stand  it. 

"  You  don't  look  a  bit  the  worse  for  your  balls, 
Mary,"  Lady  De  Vesci  having  now  got  every- 
body on  board  and  nothing  left  behind,  could 
afford  to  be  genial  and  expansive,  "  Sir  Patrick, 
Miss  Arthur" —  (that  was  what  he  thought  she 
said,  and  bowed,  recognising  an  introduction) — 
"goes  to  everything,  and  looks — my  dear,  did  you 
see  that  poor  Lilian  Birch?  Upon  my  word, 
that  girl  will  kill  herself ;  I  really  could  not  have 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  171 

her  in  here.  It  would  have  made  me  miserable 
to  be  sitting  opposite  to  her." 

"  She  looked  just  as  bad  last  night,"  said 
Mary.     "  Lily's  not  strong,  you  know." 

"Not  like  you,  or  my  girls.  But  they  don't 
do  as  much  as  you.  Flo  would  not  go  last  night; 
she  said  it  would  knock  her  up  for  to-day." 

"  Did  Gerty  enjoy  herself?  " 

"  Immensely.  I  haven't  had  time  to  hear 
about  it,  but  I  know  she  said  *  Immensely.'  An 
aunt  took  her;  "  explained  her  ladyship,  for  Sir 
Patrick's  benefit. 

"It's  so  jolly  that  there  is  nothing  on  to- 
night," said  Mary.  "Mother  wanted  me  to  come 
back,  and  go  to  the  Scoresbys'.  But  I  said  'Not 
if  I  know  it,' " —  laughing  merrily. 

"  Dear  me,  no.  The  Scoresbys'  ?  That's  a 
concert,  isn't  it  ?  Your  mother  is  going  ?  I  wish 
I  had  known.  I  would  have  asked  her  to  take — 
but  it  is  too  late  now.  Don't  let  us  think  about 
those  troublesome  things.  Let  us  give  ourselves 
up  to — oh,  Mary,  have  those  tiresome  Owen 
people  asked  you  ?  They  are  simply  pestering 
everybody  to  go  to  them,  and  I  suppose  we 
shall  have  to  give  in.  I  believe  it  is  a  wonderful 
house." 


172  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  Lady  De  Vesci,  will  yoii  take  me  to  the 
Holland  House  garden  party?" 

Off  they  started  again,  while  Sir  Patrick  sat 
still  and  listened. 

This  kind  of  thing  was  new  to  him  ;  but  it  was 
not  because  it  was  new  that  he  quietly  faced  the 
speakers  instead  of  turning  his  head  aside,  and 
gazing  from  the  window  as  the  train  flew  along. 
The  three  were  alone,  as  it  chanced  ;  others  who 
should  have  come  in  with  them,  having  found 
seats  elsewhere  in  the  hurry  of  departure ;  so  that 
there  was  no  one  to  whom  conversation  was  due, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  it  could  not  be  supposed 
that  anything  now  passing  between  the  ladies 
was  not  meant  for  the  gentleman  to  hear.  He 
was  free  to  look  interested  and  attentive — that 
meant  he  was  free  to  let  his  eyes  rest  on  Miss 
Arthur's  beautiful  face. 

What  a  face  it  was !  At  once  so  fair,  so  bright, 
so  busy — if  such  a  term  could  be  applied.  Her 
parted  lips  seemed  made  to  smile.  Youth  and 
happiness  irradiated  from  every  feature. 

"My  dear,  you  have  added  another  victim  to 
your  list ;  "  Lady  De  Vesci  lingered  for  a  whisper 
and  a  significant  glance,  ere  she  hurried  along  the 
platform,  when  the  brief  journey  was  over ;  and 


A   WHITE   PARASOL  173 

Mary  was  told  to  stand  where  she  was,  and  Sir 
Patrick  to  take  charge  of  her,  while  the  party  was 
being  collected  and  marshalled. 
He  resolved  to  stick  like  a  leech. 
Perhaps  she  saw  it — perhaps  she  liked  it.  At 
any  rate,  he  had  her  shawl  to  carry,  and  once 
when  an  eager  aspirant  came  between  the  two. 
Miss  Arthur  coolly  stepped  back  a  pace. 

"  I  believe  I  am  under  your  wing,"  said  she, 
beaming  friendly  encouragement  upon  her  late 
traveUing  companion.  Whereat  the  other  man, 
looking  Sir  Patrick  up  and  down,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  unafraid.  It  was  only  '  a  bit  of  bluff,' 
he  thought. 

Sir  Patrick,  however,  felt  more  than  ever  in 
luck's  way.  She  had  said  it — it  had  not  merely 
been  said  to  her.  He  hugged  the  shawl  closer  ; 
wild  horses  would  not  have  torn  it  from 
him. 

They  walked  down  to  the  river  side  by  side. 
Sir  Patrick  felt  free  to  do  so.  He  knew  no  one  of 
the  party  but  his  hosts,  and  they  were  too  much 
engrossed  to  require  attention.  Flo,  whose  own 
affairs  were  all  right,  gave  him  a  smile,  and 
exchanged  a  passing  congratulation  "  What  a 
perfect    day !  " — Gerty,    who    was    not    equally 


174  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

prosperous,  evaded  her  elderly  cousin,  fearful  lest 
he  should  attach  himself  where  another  was  still 
expected,  still  anxiously  hoped  for. 

Miss  Arthur,  perfectly  disengaged,  and  appa- 
rently as  willing  to  talk  to  him  as  any  one  else, 
found  the  persistent  little  figure  always  at  her 
elbow,  and  when  he  had  handed  her  into  his  boat, 
he  smiled  for  the  first  time.  Up  till  then  he  had 
been  too  anxious. 

He  pulled  stroke.  That  meant  he  was  close  to 
the  ladies  in  the  stern. 

And  of  these  there  were  only  two,  Sir  Patrick 
having  been  relegated  to  one  of  the  smaller  boats ; 
for  Lady  De  Vesci,  having  no  one  in  view  for  her 
heiress  now  that  Lord  Robert  Dashleigh  had 
failed — (for  whom  she  had  projected  the  match, 
Bobby  being  poor,  and  his  people  wild  to  get  him 
provided  for — "Would  be  usefidhj  grateful  for 
ever,"  her  ladyship  had  reflected) — this  little 
scheme  having  fallen  through,  we  say,  its  baffled 
projector  was  very  well  pleased  to  please  her 
kinsman ;  and  whether  anything  came  of  it  or 
not,  let  him  bask  awhile  in  beauty's  smiles,  un- 
molested. 

The  aspirant  who  had  tried  to  oust  Sir  Patrick 
on    the    station    platform,    and    who    was    now 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  175 

furtively  sneaking  towards  the  little  boat,  was 
summarily  ordered  off,  and  harnessed  to  a  team, 
which,  to  his  angry  mind,  had  all  that  was  cheap 
and  nasty  on  board. 

"  Isn't  Mr.  Monson  savage?"  whispered  Mary. 
Then  demurely,  "He  would  have  liked  a  nice, 
easy  boat  to  row,  you  know." 

Sir  Patrick  laughed  with  pleasure. 

The  sun  was  hot  upon  his  head,  and  smote 
upon  the  back  of  his  neck  fiercely  ;  but  once  he 
had  tucked  a  handkerchief  inside  his  straw  hat 
and  let  it  fall  over  his  shoulders — Mary  noted  the 
handkerchief,  it  was  so  old-fashioned  in  its  size, 
but  of  the  finest,  purest  cambric — he  drew  his 
long  strokes  with  an  ease  that  made  the  slim  boy 
at  his  back  envious. 

"I  say,   you   can  row;  and  you   don't   get   a 

bit  hot,   neither."      Poor  Neddy — it  was  Neddy 

De  Vesci,  a  clerk  in  the  Foreign  Office — panted  as 

-  he  spoke,  while  great  beads  of  perspiration  stood 

upon   his   forehead. 

"You  are  out  of  condition,  I  daresay?" 
suggested   Sir   Patrick,   good-naturedly. 

"  I  don't  know.  Yes.  Perhaps  I  am.  I — 
don't  often— get  a  day— oftV  jerkily  drawing 
breaths   between   the  words. 


176  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  There's  no  need  to  pull  so  hard;  "  suggested 
Mary,   pitying  him. 

"And  I  think,"  appended  the  '  Stroke,'  who 
perceived  that  he  was  the  only  one  in  the  boat 
who  knew  anything  about  it,  "  that  perhaps  if 
you" — addressing  Miss  Arthur,  who  held  the 
tiller  ropes,  "  would  steer  a  little  closer  to  the 
bank  we  should  not  have  the  stream  quite  so 
strong  against  us.  If  you  notice,  the  other 
boats "  he  hinted. 

"Why,  of  course;  now  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  that  before.  Sir  Patrick  ?  " 

Sir  Patrick  smiled  weakly. 

"  You  knew  all  the  time  that  I  was  giving  you 
double  work,  but  you  would  not  correct  me, 
because  I  was  so  conceited  as  to  fancy  I  knew  all 
about  it ;  that  was  quite  the  preux  chevalier," 
cried  Mary,  delighted.  "  I  daresay  but  for  Neddy 
you  would  have  tugged  away  without  a  remon- 
strance the  whole  afternoon.  There,  is  that 
right  ?     Are  we  close  enough  now  ?  " 

They  were  so  close  and  so  well  out  of  the 
stream  that  scarcely  half  the  exertion  was  needed, 
and  Sir  Patrick,  to  whom  the  exercise  was  a  mere 
nothing,  joined  in  the  ladies'  conversation  as 
though  no  oar  were  in  his  hands.     He  was  only 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  177 

sorry  when  the  islet  came  in  sight  upon  which 
they  were  to  land. 

But  even  on  the  islet  things  went  well  with 
him.  Miss  Arthur  herself  beckoned  her  oarsman 
to  the  shade  which  she  had  selected  for  her  own 
benefit — (it  must  be  said  that  he  was  most 
obviously  hovering  near,) — and  he  was  allowed  to 
lie  on  the  grass  and  look  up  into  her  face,  and 
eat  and  drink — he  did  not  eat  much,  but  he  was 
thirsty — while  no  one  else  made  any  demands 
upon  him,  and  the  gay  chatter  went  on  all  round 
unheeding. 

After  luncheon  came  a  stroll — still  by  Mary's 
side.  By  this  time  he  had  a  recognised  right  in 
her. 

Then  a  paddle  all  by  themselves  in  their  own 
boat ;  a  halt  up  a  dreamy  backwater  ;  where  the 
woodpeckers  were  rustling,  and  the  waterhens 
leading  forth  their  broods  across  the  water-lily 
leaves — more  talk,  some  of  it  serious — Sir  Patrick 
unfolding  curious,  locked  up  treasures  of  his 
heart,  which  no  one  knew  of  but  himself ; 
Mary  sympathetic,  interested,  touched — for  the 
moment. 

"You  needn't  laugh  at  him;"  she  said  indig- 
nantly,   on    her     return    to     gay    rebukes     and 

13 


178  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

whispered  badinage.  "  I'd  a  great  deal  rather 
have  had  him  than  any  one  else  here  :  "  chin  in 
air;  "yes,  I  would.  You  have  your  own  men," 
to  the  girls  who  had  by  this  time  '  caught  on ' 
as  they  said  to  the  '  Miss  Arthur '  jest.  "  I  dare- 
say they  are  nice  enough ;  but  anyhow,  they  have 
nothing  to  do  with  me.  And  I  can  tell  you  he's 
very  good  company  ;  and — and — I  like  him  very 
much,"  defiantly. 

Sir  Patrick  looking  wistfully  on  from  the  back- 
ground, was  sure  that  something  was  being  said. 
Were  they  trying  to  take  her  from  him  ? 

He  breathed  relief  however;  no  such  dire 
catastrophe  ensued ;  and  instead,  back  tripped 
Miss  Arthur  with  a  request.  Some  of  the  party 
were  going  up  to  tea  at  a  house  whose  grounds 
sloped  down  towards  the  water's  edge,  but  she 
did  not  know  the  people,  and  did  not  wish  to  go 
to  the  house.  Neddy,  too,  had  declared  against 
the  expedition.  Would  Sir  Patrick  join  them  in 
evading  it?  Would  he  lend  himself  to  a  ruse? 
The  three  were  to  land  with  the  rest,  affect  to 
follow  them  up  the  woodland  path,  turn  round 
when  sufficiently  far  behind,  and  slip  back  to  the 
boats. 

"Then  we'll   boil  our  own   kettle,    and  make 


A  WHITE   PARASOL  179 

our  own  tea,  and  it  will  be  such  fun,"  said 
she. 

Oh,  poor  Sir  Patrick  ! 

That  hour  seemed  to  rivet  in  all  that  had  gone 
before.  The  presence  of  a  third  person  was  no 
drawback  at  this  stage,  that  third  being  a  callow 
youth  to  whom  the  playing  of  a  trick  was  glee, 
and  to  fill  whose  cup  all  that  was  needed  was 
the  consciousness  that  he  was  sharing  the 
misdemeanour  with  the  prettiest  girl  of  the 
party. 

Further  than  that,  Mary  was  nothing  to  him. 
He  had  his  own  Mary,  and  she  was  not  there, — 
whereat  at  first  he  had  sulked,  but  by  this  time 
having  forgotten,  would  start  afresh  presently 
with  some  one  else,  name  as  yet  unknown. 
Neddy  was  never  empty-handed  long. 

He  was  annoyed  with  his  sisters  too ;  they 
would  order  him  about  before  people.  It  was 
they  who  had  projected  the  raid  to  the  beastly 
house  where  he  was  sure  they  were  not  wanted 
by  the  beastly  people.  He  was  charmed  to  out- 
wit them. 

Accordingly  they  were  the  merriest  trio 
imaginable,  who  with  a  sense  of  desperate  daring 
and  triumphant  diplomacy  flew  down  the  bank. 


180  SIR  PATRICK:    THE  PUDDOCK 

and  lost  themselves  in  the  green  by  the  river's 
edge,  vi^hence  they  abode  in  fullest  content  till  the 
return  of  the  raiders. 

"  And  we  have  had  the  most  lovely  tea ;  "  said 
Mary. 

"  Miss  Arthur  is  a  splendid  tea-maker ;  "  asserted 
Sir  Patrick. 

It  was  such  a  little  thing  to  laugh  at.  He 
would  have  laughed  himself  had  he  known, — but, 
as  it  was,  a  distinct  and  audible  titter  struck  upon 
his  ear  like  a  knell.  The  Misses  De  Vesci  had 
high  spirits,  and  the  day's  events  had  raised  them 
to  the  pitch  of  recklessness, — since  even  Gerty's 
earlier  ill-fortune  had  been  handsomely  remedied, 
and  she  was  now  as  brimful  of  merriment  as  her 
sister  ; — wherefore  they  were  alike  in  a  mood  to 
'  scream  at  nothing '  as  narrated  by  Mary 
Harborough  to  her  uncle. 

'  Miss  Arthur !  '     Oh,  it  was  a  huge  joke. 

Not  to  know  the  universally-known  Mary ! 
To  have  been  in  all  ignorance  a  whole  day  in  her 
company,  her  favoured  companion  of  the  hour, 
the  locum  tenens  who  would  have  excited  such  a 
swell  of  jealousy  in  a  score  of  breasts  had  they 
known !  It  was  too  ridiculous,  too  splendid,  too 
screaming ! 


A   WHITE   PARASOL  181 

"Don't  tell  him  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  tell 
him;  "  implored  they. 

All  right.  Mary  had  no  desire  to  tell.  She 
had  her  private  complacency  in  having  subjugated 
a  heart  off  her  own  bat,  so  to  speak ;  and  albeit 
unaware,  indeed  little  dreaming  of  the  extent  of 
the  havoc  wrought,  she  could  not  but  perceive 
what  all  perceived. 

It  was  an  understood  thing  that  she  and  her 
new  friend  should  return  as  they  came  ;  and  out 
of  the  range  of  his  tormentors,  the  latter's  spirits 
revived.  He  told  himself  that  possibly  he  had 
been  mistaken,  and  that  the  laugh  might  have 
meant  anything.  They  were  laughing  all  the 
time  in  the  other  boats.  Echoes  of  mirth  floated 
on  every  puff  of  air — not  that  there  were  many 
puffs,  for  the  night  was  calm  as  the  day  had  been 
— still  on  the  water  sound  carries  far,  and  by  the 
time  Maidenhead  was  reached,  conviction  was 
firm  that  this  particular  laugh  had  only  been  one 
of  many.     He  held  his  own  stoutly. 

And  would  have  continued  to  hold  it,  but  Fate 
who  had  been  so  kind  before,  now  showed  her 
claws. 

"You  are  looking  for  Miss  Arthur."  A  gay 
voice  accosted  him,  as  one  of  his  young  cousins 


182  SIE   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

strolled  up.  "Miss  Arthur — he — he — he!  is 
over  there,"  indicating  the  spot. 

"  I  thought  she  might  want  her  parasol ;  " 
murmured  the  forlorn  knight.  He  was  beginning 
to  feel  a  twinge  of  forlornness ;  for  Mary,  his 
Mary,  had  drifted  away  from  him,  and  others  had 
clustered  round  her.  However,  at  the  moment 
she  looked  round. 

"Her  parasol'?"  Florence  De  Vesci  ironically 
regarded  it.  "  She  gave  it  you  to  hold  instead 
of  the  shawl?" 

He  assented.  Miss  Arthur  had  been  glad  to 
wrap  herself  against  the  cooler  night  breezes 
on  the  river,  and  he  had  been  made  the 
happy  proprietor  pro  tem.  of  the  now  useless 
parasol. 

"  Well,  take  it  to  her,"  said  Florence,  promptly. 
"  Mary  ;  "  advancing  towards  the  group,  "  here  is 
Sir  Patrick  clinging  to  your  parasol  for  dear  life. 
He  thinks  you  may  want  it,"  with  mischievous 
significance.  "  At  any  rate,  that  you  may  like  to 
be  near  it.  Now,  don't  you  go  and  get  out  of 
range  of  that  parasol.  Isn't  that  the  idea,  Sir 
Patrick?" 

He  bowed  confusedly.  He  was  not  used  to 
being  bantered. 


A   WHITE    PARASOL  183 

"  Where  is  Sir  Patrick?  "  demanded  Lady  De 
Vesci,  peering  hither  and  thither,  eyeglass  up,  to 
collect  the  stragglers.     "Is  Sir  Patrick " 

"Here,  with  'Miss  Arthur,'"  replied  her 
daughter,  and  now  there  could  be  no  mistake, 
he  distinctly  saw  a  general  smile  and  glances 
passing. 

"  Nonsense ;  "  said  her  ladyship,  crossly.  It  did 
not  suit  her  that  her  own  particular  guest  should 
be  made  game  of,  especially  by  others  with  whom 
she  was  now  out  of  humour.  Flo  and  Gerty  had 
annoyed  her  all  day,  getting  altogether  beyond 
her  control ;  while  the  picnic  had,  matrimonially, 
been  a  failure,  as  she  had  at  last  come  to  perceive. 
It  had  been  nothing  but  folly  and  flirtation,  she 
indignantly  told  herself ;  vowing  a  bitter  vow 
against  river  days  in  future. 

"  Now,  mind  we  all  get  into  a  big  saloon  to- 
gether ;  "  continued  our  hostess,  peremptorily. 
"There  are  saloon  carriages  on  this  train,  they 
say  ;  and  there  has  been  too  much  breaking  up 
into  twos  and  threes  already " 

"Not  much  of  threes;"  murmured  Flo,  still 
mischievous  and  mirth-loving.  "  Only  one  three, 
Mary" —  (Sir  Patrick  heard  her  say  it,) — "and 
Neddy  doesn't  count." 


184  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

'"Sh!     Be  quiet." 

The  two  girls  were  outside  the  general  circle, 
close  to  a  motionless  figure  in  grey. 

"  '  Miss  Arthur '  has  done  pretty  well  to-day, 
eh?"  continued  Flo. 

A  murmured  response,  inaudible. 

But  Florence  De  Vesci's  voice  was  higher 
pitched  than  that  of  her  companion,  and  carried 
further. 

"  Tell  him  ?     Not  you.     It  would  spoil  all." 

Again  an  inaudible  response. 

Then,  "  Well,  and  why  not?  Why  shouldn't 
we  laugh  at  him  ? "  cried  the  heedless  Flo. 
"  He'll  never  find  out.  He's  only  up  for  a  week 
or  two,  and  knows  no  one  in  our  set.  And  as  for 
you,  it  was  you  who  set  us  on, " 

The  figure  in  grey  stumbled  forward  in  the 
darkness,   and  something  fell  out  of  its  arms. 

It  was  a  white  parasol. 


CHAPTEK  VIII 

'BOBBY'  APPEARS  UPOX  THE  SCENE 

rriHAT  summer  day  contained  the  whole 
romance  of  Sir  Patrick's  Hfe.  He  never 
spoke  of  it ;  he  was  reheved  that  none  of  the 
De  Vesci  family  were  at  home  when  he  called 
to  thank  them  for  his  share  in  the  entertainment ; 
and  he  left  London  within  a  week. 

Thus  he  cut  himself  off,  unwittingly,  from  any 
chance  he  might  have  had  of  hearing  the  truth. 

And  the  truth,  though  it  might  have  done  him 
no  solid,  substantial  good,  would  have  saved  him 
many  hours  of  sadness.  It  was  pathetic  to  think 
of  the  dumb  suffering  locked  within  that  heart,  of 
which  no  one  knew  or  dreamed. 

Back  sped  Sir  Patrick  to  his  ancestral  home 
and  threw  himself  at  once  into  its  interests  and 
concerns,  seizing  as  it  were  the  thread  of  these 

185 


186  SIK   PATKICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

between  fierce,  trembling  fingers,  which  knotted 
them  fast. 

Home  was  best,  he  said ;  tliat  was  why  he  had 
come  back  sooner  than  usual. 

And  he  sent  for  John  Wigram,  the  factor,  the 
very  night  of  his  arrival,  instead  of  waiting  until 
the  following  day,  as  was  his  wont. 

He  was  seen  hurrying  hither  and  thither  upon 
the  road.  A  boat  was  ordered,  and  he  was  on 
the  shore  waiting  impatiently  long  before  the 
hour  himself  had  named  to  start.  Scarcely  had 
he  gone  out  on  to  the  dark  bosom  of  the  loch,  ere 
he  must  return.  They  had  to  land  him  on  a 
point,  and  he  walked  home. 

Again  he  was  sighted  against  the  sky-line  on 
the  moor,  tramping  back  and  forwards,  not  Hke 
one  with  an  end  in  view. 

What  in  Heaven's  name  had  come  to  the 
laird '? 

After  a  time  however,  the  keen  edge  of 
torment  wore  off,  and  there  remained  only  a 
deepened  sense  of  personal  inferiority,  and  a 
strengthened  conviction  that  he  was  not  meant 
for  the  world,  in  the  bosom  of  the  man  who  had, 
as  he  took  it,  betrayed  himself  to  its  ridicule  and 
contempt. 


'BOBBY'    APPEARS    UPON   THE    SCENE     187 

Nigel,  he  felt,  would  uever  have  been  so  deceived. 

Yet  again  Nigel  had  been  deceived ;  had  been 
caught  by  the  outward  semblance  of  affection, 
and  the  charm  of  a  sympathetic  sweetness — 
Selina  was  still  a  favourite  in  many  quarters — it 
really  seemed  as  if  truth  and  honour  no  longer 
existed  among  women,  or  at  any  rate  among  the 
women  of  his  own  class. 

He  recalled  that  the  De  Vescis,  whom  he  had 
always  taken  to  be  nice  sort  of  people,  had  lent 
themselves  to  the  plot  against  him — for  it  had 
now  assumed  the  dimensions  of  a  plot — and  if 
they,  his  own  kinsfolk,  towards  whom  his 
thoughts  had  always  turned  complacently,  could 
be  tools  in  the  hands  of  a  heartless  girl  bent  on 
finding  food  for  her  own  vanity,  how  could  he 
expect  anything  better  from  others  ? 

Lady  De  Vesci  had  made  him  travel  down  with 
Mary ;  entrusted  Mary  to  his  care ;  permitted  her 
to  attach  him  at  every  point  in  the  day's  events — 
and  though  her  ladyship  was  certainly  innocent 
as  far  as  the  al  fresco  tea-party  was  concerned, 
and  he  now  interpreted  her  annoyance  at  the  rail- 
way station  to  a  sense  of  the  jest's  having  been 
carried  too  far,  he  still  felt  that  she  had  been  a 
party  to  it  at  the  beginning. 


188  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

They  all  intended  him  to  be  subjugated  by 
their  beautiful  guest,  and,  aware  of  his  previous 
impregnability  in  such  quarters,  contrived  that  he 
was  to  make  sport  for  them,  like  Samson  for  the 
Philistines. 

With  dry,  burning  eyes.  Sir  Patrick  saw  it  all, 
and  almost  felt  he  could  have  borne  it  all,  but  for 
four  words  which,  when  uttered  had  fallen  like  a 
hammer  on  his  heart ;  and  left  an  indelible 
impress  there. 

"  You  set  us  on,"  Florence  De  Vesci  had  cried, 
shrilly.     And  the  only  answer  was — a  laugh. 

Time  however,  as  we  have  said,  healed  even  the 
smart  of  that  wound,  and  the  hardy  Highlander 
resumed  his  wonted  habits  and  occupations. 

A  day,  what  was  a  day  ? 

At  first  it  seemed  a  life-time  ;  but  when  he  had 
wrung  the  full  measure  of  its  bitterness  from  every 
hour,  the  area  shrank.  Literally,  there  had  been 
no  time  for  fancy  to  range,  and  a  future  to  be  con- 
jured up.  The  present  had  been  everything — and 
to  this  he  owed  a  speedier  restoration  to  his  usual 
quiet  cheerfulness  than  he  was  aware. 

All  was  over  so  soon,  over  with  a  great  crash  it 
is  true,  but  still  over  decisively  and  conclusively, 
that   almost   before    he   could    feel    the    ground 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS    UPON   THE    SCENE     189 

whereon  he  stood,  it  was  cut  from  under  him. 
One  ray  from  Heaven  had  streamed  athwart  his 
path  and  vanished — but  the  path  remained  what 
it  always  had  been  ;  he  buckled  to,  and  trod  it. 
By-and-bye  he  trod  much  as  he  had  done  before. 

Selina,  however,  voted  The  Puddock  touchy, 
on  her  next  visit ;  and  there  was  one  grand  explo- 
sion, as  we  know.  She  tackled  him  with  avoidance 
of  her  house  when  in  Town,  and  protested  that 
unsociability  was  growing  upon  him.  She  heard 
he  had  been  to  the  De  Vescis'.  And  Lady  Do 
Vesci  might  as  well  have  asked  them  to  the  river 
party,  for  Nigel  would  have  gone  if  he  had  known 
his  brother  was  to  be  there. 

When  Sir  Patrick  had  nothing  to  say  about  the 
river  party,  however,  she  yawned,  and  was  sure  it 
had  been  dull — everything  the  De  Vescis  did  was 
dull.  Besides  she  couldn't  have  gone  ;  she  was 
dining  at  Hurlingham,  or  at  some' other  place; 
•certainly  she  couldn't  have  gone. 

He  was  silent.  He  did  not  see  that  an 'answer 
was  required. 

This  had  been  said  on  the  first  day  after  Selina's 
arrival.  On  the  second,  she  had,  innocently 
enough,  reverted  again  to  the  party  as  to  which 
her   grievance  was  genuine  ;    for   she   had  bee 


190  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

dying  to  go  to  it,  and  other  invitations  had  only 
been  accepted  when  hope  was  vain, — and  on  this 
second  recurrence  to  the  subject  her  brother-in- 
law  had  been  betrayed  into  a  quick  rejoinder  : 
"You  might  have  gone  in  my  place,  with  pleasure." 

"I  daresay.  Why  on  earth  did  they  ask  you? 
So  odd  of  them." 

("  Why  indeed  ?  "  thought  he,  bitterly.) 

But  a  grand  day's  sport  on  the  moor  followed, 
and  more  than  half  the  bag  fell  to  Sir  Patrick's 
gun  ;  he  came  home  healthily  tired,  hungry,  and 
jubilant.  Also  he  had  had  time  for  a  consoling 
reflection.  The  De  Vescis  had  told  Selina  nothing. 
That,  in  itself,  was  a  point  gained. 

The  names  of  the  London  people  who  were 
now  submitted  to  him,  as  being  about  to  avail 
themselves  of  his  hospitality,  did  indeed  cause  a 
twinge,  as  he  fancied  some  of  them  familiar,  and 
recalled  that  they  had  been  met  at  the  De  Vescis' 
house, — but  his  cousins  themselves  having  gone 
abroad,  his  worst  apprehensions  were  at  rest,  and 
on  the  whole  Selina's  list  had  his  approbation. 

Little  more  remains  to  be  said. 

New  thoughts  and  emotions,  new  likings  and 
dislikings,  the  bustle  and  stir  connected  with  the 
annual  opening  of  the  guest  chambers — anxiety 


'BOBBY'  APPEARS  UPON  THE  SCENE   191 

about  the  weather,  the  sport,  the  various  amuse- 
ments projected,  the  whole  business  in  short,  kept 
Sir  Patrick's  mind  in  a  continual  ferment,  and 
when  it  was  over,  relief  was  his  predominating 
emotion.  He  smoked  his  pipe  and  thought  of 
'  Miss  Arthur '  with  a  gentle  sigh. 

She  was  thoughtless — that  was  all. 

And  now  for  the  meeting  of  the  pair. 

"Who  can  yon  be  upon  the  road?"  cogitated 
Sir  Patrick  thinking  in  Scotch  as  he  often  did,  and 
deeply  interested  directly  he  saw  a  figure  in  the 
distant  solitude.  "Not  the  Gill  lassie?"  after 
walking  on  a  bit.  "  Ay,  it  is,  though."  He 
picked  himself  up.  The  Gill  lassie  was  a  cheery 
lassie,  he  had  no  objection  to  meet  and  have  a 
*  crack ' ! 

"  She's  coming  after  her  shells.  Well,  there 
may  be  some,  but  I  doubt  it.  I  told  her  a  storm 
would  bring  them  in ;  but  yesterday's  wind  was 
hardly  enough.  Still,  there  may  be  a  few,  if  she 
knows  the  right  places  to  look." 

He  reflected  that  he  could  tell  her  the  places. 

"It's  she;"  he  nodded  to  himself;  for  be  it 
remembered,  there  was  no  choice,  to  his  mind  ; 
either  it  was  Sophy,  or  some  country-side  damsel ; 
and  clothes  and  general  appearance  did  not  indi- 


192  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

cate  the  latter.  Mary  Harborough,  too,  though 
an  inch  or  so  taller  than  Sophy  Gill,  was  not  of 
sufficient  height  to  mark  a  difference. 

She  came  along  briskly.  To  herself  she  also 
was  saying,  Who  is  that  ?  naturally  not  recognis- 
ing an  acquaintance  in  the  kilted  figure  approach- 
ing with  easj^  swing  of  philabeg,  gun  over  the 
shoulder,  bonnet  well  down  across  the  brow. 

"A  gentleman,  or  a  keeper?"  queried  Mary, 
keeping  to  the  farther  side  of  the  road ;  whichever 
it  was,  it  would  be  easier  to  pass  with  the  breadth 
of  the  way  between.  "  I  suppose  I  must  not 
speak?  "  Yet  not  to  speak,  not  even  to  exchange 
a  salutation,  and  loneliness  for  miles  on  every 
side?  "If  he  touches  his  cap,  I'll  say  "Fine 
day  ;  "  decided  she. 

Then  all  at  once  a  curious  sensation  made  itself 
felt.  Where  and  when  had  she  seen  that  face 
before  ? 

Sir  Patrick's  eyes  were  starting  from  his  head. 

But  again  Time,  his  ancient  ally,  stood  his 
friend.  The  moment  was  upon  him  ere  he  was 
conscious  of  more  than  a  dizzy  sensation  ;  and  a 
ringing  voice  hailed  him  by  his  name,  while  yet 
his  ears  buzzed. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  ?  " 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS   UPON   THE   SCENE      193 

Eemember  her?  Oh,  the  thrilHng  sweetness 
of  those  tones. 

Bemember  her  ? 

He  bared  his  head.  His  eyes  humbly  breathed 
reproach.     His  feet  stood  still. 

"Who  would  have  beheved  we  should  meet 
like  this?"  cried  the  gay  girl,  laughing,  and 
well  pleased.  "  Why,  Sir  Patrick,  I  think  you 
know  me,  but " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes  ;  "  said  he,  hurriedly. 

"  So  this  was  where  you  flew  away  to,  and  no 
one  ever  saw  you  again?  Or,  are  you  just  here  on 
a  visit  like  myself?  I  only  came  last  night,  I 
never  was  in  this  part  of  the  Highlands  before." 

"And  you  came — last  night?"  He  could  think 
of  nothing  else  to  say. 

"  From  London  to  Oban  by  train.  Then  my 
uncle  met  me  in  his  yacht?" 

"  Your  uncle?  "     He  was  still  bewildered. 

"  Don't  you  know  him?  Over  there.  Losca  is 
his  place.     That's  where  I'm  stopping." 

"At  Losca?  Is  Mr.  Mercer  your  uncle?" — 
light  breaking  in  upon  him. 

"That's  better;  now  you  know,"  nodded  she, 
serenely.  "  You  seem  rather  dumbfoundered,  Sir 
Patrick."     Inwardly  she  was  flattered,  conceiving 

14 


194  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

a  tribute  to  her  charms,  and  ready  to  remember 
what  had  long  since  sHpped  into  memory's  back- 
ground. "  I  hope  you  don't  object  to  my  being 
Mr.  Mercer's  niece?"  with  an  arch  conviction 
that  no  neighbour  of  Mr.  Mercer's  could  mind. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Arthur " 

"  Oh,  stop,"  cried  she. 

He  stopped,  amazed. 

"It  was  really  very  silly  of  us,  and  rude  too," 
she  ran  on,  a  slight  confusion  visible,  "Lady  De 
Vesci  scolded  us  all  for  it  afterwards  ;  and  we 
should  have  explained,  only  we  never  saw  you,  and 
it  wasn't  worth  a  fuss,  but — but  my  name  is  not 
— I  mean  it's  not  '  Miss  Arthur,'  and  we  couldn't 
help  laughing  when  you  said  it." 

"  Not  *  Miss  Arthur '  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all  '  Miss  Arthur.'  Oh,  dear,  no.  My 
name  is  '  Harborough  ' — but  they  sound  alike," — 
she  waited  for  the  effect  of  her  words. 

The  effect  however,  was  ludicrously  slight. 
'  Arthur '  or  '  Harborough  '  what  mattered  it  ?  Sir 
Patrick  saw  he  had  been  misled ;  but  a  trivial 
misnomer?  He  blinked  his  eyes  and  looked,  it 
must  be  owned,  stupidly  blank. 

"  So  you  see  it  tvas  rather  funny,"  resumed  the 
heiress,  who  had  expected  a  start  and  an  exclama- 


'BOBBY'    APPEAKS   UPON    THE    SCENE      195 

tion,  and  even  now  could  hardly  fathom  the  depths 
of  ignorance  which  made  neither  forthcoming. 
"  You  had  never  heard  of  me,  I  suppose  ?  "  On  a 
sudden  she  felt  enlightened  herself. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  heard  of  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  ;  "  frankly. 

"  And  not  to  have  done  so  was  unpardonable  ?" 

"Quite." 

"  I  understand." 

"But  we  never  supposed  that  you  had  not;" 
pursued  the  young  lady,  somewhat  disconcerted, 
"  and  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  I  told  the  other  girls, 
and  they  said  '  Oh,  don't  tell  him' — no,"  suddenly 
she  checked  herself,  "  I'm  afraid  it  was  I  who  said 
it; "  a  blush  rising.  "You  see  London  is — is  such 
a  horrid  place.  People  who  won't  speak  to  you  or 
look  at  you  if  you  are  a  nobody,  come  fawning 
round  and  beg  to  be  allowed  to  call,  and  offer  you 
tickets  for  everything  under  the  sun,  if  you  are — 
are " 

"A  somebody?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  are  a  somebody  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,  sir."  The  beauty  threw  up 
her  head.  Then  laughing  outright.  "No  one 
ever  asked  me  that  question  before." 


196  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Sir  Patrick  quietly  smiled.  "  Miss  Harborough," 
he  paused  to  look  her  full  in  the  face,  "  that  is 
right  this  time  ?  Yes  ?  Miss  Harborough,  you 
are,  I  gather,  a  reigning  sovereign,  and  I  treated 
you  as  a  simple  citizen.  But  if  finding  me  thus 
under  a  misconception — you  masqueraded  before 
me  as — shall  we  say   a   beggar  maid? — if,  thus 

disguised,  you  won  my  ignorant  homage "  his 

voice  shook  a  little,  though  he  fancied  it  steady — 
"  was  it  worth  while  to  laugh " 

"  Oh,  Sir  Patrick — indeed,  Sir  Patrick — oh,  I 
am  so  sorry,  so  very,  very  sorry  if  you  thought — 
but  indeed  3'ou  mistook.  We  were  not  laughing 
at  you " 

She  paused,  colouring  deeply.  Her  troubled 
eyes  were  on  the  ground.  Sincerity  stamped 
every  feature. 

"  The  girls  thought  it  a  joke  that  I  should  be 
liked  for  myself; "  with  a  suspicion  of  tears  in  her 
voice.  "  Sir  Patrick,  you  don't  know,  you  can't 
think  how  cruel  girls  are  sometimes  to  me.  They 
are  for  ever  hinting — sometimes  they  even  say 
to  my  face,  that — that  the  men  want  my  money. 
I  can't  answer  back.  And  I  never  have  a  chance, 
because  every  one  knows  who  I  am  wherever  I  go. 
It's  not  my  own  money,"  she  explained;  "  it's  my 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS   UPON   THE   SCENE      197 

uncle's ;  uncle  Jonathan  Mercer's.  But  even  he 
is  alwaj^s  talking  and  thinking  about  it.  He 
would  like  me  to  swagger — oh,  what  am  I  saying '? 
I  never  said  this  before — never.  But  you  did  like 
me  for  myself,  didn't  you?  And  I  liked  you.  And 
after  that  day,  when  I  never  saw  you  again,  I  was 
afraid  you  had  heard  us  laughing.  The  laugh  was 
as  much  at  me  as  at  you.  IMore.  It  was  not  very 
kind,  was  it?  But  people  in  London  aren't  kind. 
All  they  care  for  is  to  be  amused.  When  I  thought 
it  over,  I  was — sorry." 

"  Were  you  ?  "     His  eyes  gleamed. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  wished  I  hadn't  let  you  in  for 
it.  I  wished  I  had  told  you  at  the  first.  I  wish 
now "  she  paused. 

Sir  Patrick  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  "  I  wish 
nothing  now." 

Ere  they  parted,  he  saw  her  to  the  lodge  gates 
of  Losca. 

Of  all  this  Mary,  as  we  know,  made  short 
account  when  teUing  the  tale  to  the  Mercers. 
The  bare  outHnes  indeed  she  gave,  but  there  were 
accompaniments  of  look  and  tone  which  had  half 
pleased,  half  disconcerted  her,  and  which  at  any 
rate  were  best  kept  to  herself.  She  would  not 
again  expose  Sir  Patrick  to  misconception.     He 


198  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

was  a  nice  little  man,  and  should  be  treated 
nicely.  She  might  have  forgotten  all  about  him 
— as  indeed  she  had — but  now  that  he  had 
'  cropped  up  '  again,  why  there  he  was. 

"Come  along,  Sophy;"  cried  she, in  fine  spirits. 
"  Come  along,  before  the  tide  turns.  The  shore 
— the  shore.  We  shan't  meet  any  one  down 
there,  at  all  events;"  thinking  she  had  had 
enough  of  meetings  for  one  day. 

"  Oh  no,  we  shan't  meet  any  one  there; "  echoed 
Sophy,  but  her  tone  lacked  the  other's  briskness. 
"  I  generally  go  to  meet  the  boat  in  the  after- 
noon;" she  hinted.  "It  is  the  only  fun  we  have, 
just  now." 

Mary  however,  ran  on,  unheeding. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  be  back  for  The 
Puddock's  call;"  tried  Sophy,  next.  Anybody's 
call  was  better  than  the  dreary  shore,  to  her 
mind. 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  Mary.     "Back  for  what  ?  ' ' 

"  The  Puddock." 

"  Who's  '  The  Puddock  '  ?  " 

"  Why  Sir  Patrick,  of  course.  Didn't  you 
know  ?  He  is  always  called  that — at  least  he 
used  to  be  as  a  boy.     An  old  woman  told  me.'' 

"  The  Puddock  !  "  laughed  Mary.    Then  check- 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS   UPON   THE   SCENE       199 

ing  herself.  "  It's  a  shame.  It  hits  him  off  too 
welL  The  Puddock  !  I  wonder  who  thouo^ht  of 
it.     It's  cruel  " — but  she  laughed  again. 

"  Isn't  he  ugly  ?  "  said  Sophy. 

"  I  daresay  ; "  indifferently. 

"  I  hate  ugly  men,  don't  you '?  " 

"  Hate  them  ?     What  for  ?  " 

"  AVhy,  for  being  ugly,"  said  Sophy,  promptly. 

"Gracious  me! — what  does  it  matter?  And 
besides,  that's  nonsense ;  you  don't  hate  my 
uncle,  and  he's  not  exactly — he's  quite  as  ugly 
as  Sir  Patrick." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  old  men." 

"  You  mean  men  that  you  are  wanted  to  marry, 
I  suppose,"  said  Mary,  composedly.  "  Have  they 
been  sticking  Sir  Patrick  into  you  ?  " 

"  Ye — ye — yes." 

"Well?" 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  too  bad  ?  " 

"  Much  too  bad.  I  don't  suppose  he  is  ever 
thinking  of  such  a  thing." 

"Oh,  but  he  is;"  eagerly.  "At  least  Mrs. 
Mercer  thinks  he  is.  And  she  was  quite  angry 
with  me  about  it.  She  seemed  to  think  I  ought 
to  jump  at  him  !  " 

"  And  you  don't  jump  ?  " 


200  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"As  if  I  should,"  said  Sophy,  pettishly. 
"Would  you?  Girls  don't  want  '  Puddocks'  for 
their  husbands." 

"  I  think  my  uncle  and  aunt  had  better  let  Sir 
Patrick  alone.  He  has  been  worried  enough 
among  us.  And  I  don't  think  you  need  bother 
your  head" — ("  it  will  take  me  all  my  time  to  keep 
him  off — "  mentally) — "  look  here,"  said  Mary, 
with  a  sudden  peremptoriness,  "  I  didn't  come 
here  to  have  that  sort  of  thing  starting  at  once. 
Of  course  if  there  had  been  anything  real — but 
you  say  you  don't  want  him,  and  I  say  he  doesn't 
want  you.  It's  not  complimentary,  but  you 
needn't  look  so  black.  You  ought  to  be  thankful 
there  are  no  complications." 

"  Of  course  I  am,  and  how  can  you  say  I  look 
black?      I'm  sure,  I'm   only   too   glad.      But   I 

don't  quite  see  how  you "  and  Sophy  shot  a 

suggestive  glance. 

'*  I  know  men  in  and  out ;  however,  I  have 
said  my  say,  and  if  you  don't  believe  me,  you 
needn't.  Now,  I  go  this  way,  and  you  go  that;  " 
pointing  hither  and  thither,  "  and  we  can  meet 
at  those  rocks  down  there." 

("  She  just  did  that  to  get  rid  of  me;  "  quoth 
Sophy  sullenly  to  herself.) 


'BOBBY'  APPEARS  UPON  THE  SCENE   201 

"  What  a  nuisance  it  is  having  that  girl  here ;  " 
was  Mary's  comment  on  her  part.  "  I  knew 
from  the  first  I  did  not  want  her;"  further 
meditated  she,  "  and  now  I  want  her  less  than 
ever.  If  only  old  people  would  believe  that  young 
ones  don't  always  want  to  go  in  herds  !  I  could 
have  been  quite  happy  here  with  only  uncle  Jo 
and  aunt  Lou, — and  Sir  Patrick  as  an  outlet 
now  and  then.  The  poor  '  Puddock ' !  Of  course 
I  shan't  let  him  get  too  far ;  but  for  a  trumpery 
Sophy  Gill — a  second-rate — a  fifth-rate  girl,  with 
not  even  blowsy  good  looks,  to  turn  up  her  nose 
at  him  !  The  idea  of  such  a  thing  !  I  shall 
have  to  open  her  eyes.  I  shall  just  have  to  do 
that.  And  she  can't  say  it  isn't  fair,  after  to-day. 
Ho  !  there's  a  beauty,"  and  she  darted  after  a 
shell.  Presently  in  the  ardour  of  the  pursuit, 
Sir  Patrick  and  all  about  him  was  forgotten. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  lovers  were  thick 
as  leaves  in  Vallombrosa  round  my  heroine. 
That  she  saw  them  come  and  go,  advance  and 
recede,  turn  tail  and  resume  the  charge  again, 
with  the  serenity  born  of  conviction  that  no  one 
was  wholly  disinterested.  As  she  said,  she  liad 
not  a  chance.  It  was  wise  and  prudent  to  love 
her,  wherefore  the  love  that   might   have  been, 


202  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

was  converted  insensibly  with  a  love  of  inferior 
quality.  Mothers  told  their  sons,  and  sisters  told 
their  brothers  that  Mary  Harborough  was  delight- 
ful— but  the  sons  and  the  brothers  knew  why 
they  were  so  told. 

"How  do  you  feel  about  it?"  Lady  Harborough 
once  asked  her  daughter. 

"  I  don't  '  feel '  at  all,"  replied  Mary.  "  When 
I  want  to  marry,  I'll  look  about  and  see  who 
would  do.  And  if  I  can  find  a  fairly  respectable 
duke,  or  a  prince  willing  to  give  up  his  rights  of 
succession " 

"  You  absurd  creature  ;  "  fondly. 

**Faihng  these,  I  should  rather  like  to  endow 
the  church.  'Bishops  are  cheap  at  present,'  but 
an  archbishop  might  make  a  hole  in  uncle  Jo's 
purse.     It  would  be  a  new  departure." 

"Archbishops  are  invariably  married  men," 
quoth  Lady  Harborough,  a  little  bewildered. 

"  Are  Lord  Chancellors?  One  of  them  would 
do  at  a  pinch.  I  should  like  to  have  the  half  of 
the  Great  Seal  for  my  own,  when  a  new  one 
was  needed,  I  could  make  it  into  an  ink- 
pot." 

"  You  would  like  to  marry  your  grandfather,  I 
daresay ;  "  sarcastically. 


'BOBBY'   APPEAES    UPON    THE    SCENE      203 

' '  Heaven  forbid  !  You  tell  me  my  grandfather 
used  to " 

"  Figuratively,  my  dear,  figuratively.  I  only 
meant  a  man  in  point  of  age,  your  grandfather. 
Well,  Mary,  all  this  means,  I  suppose,  that  you 
are  inclined  to  remain  single  at  present  ?  " 

Mary  indicated  that  it  did. 

She  had  one  admirer  however,  as  to  whom  she 
occasionally  wavered.  Lord  Kobert  Dashleigh  in 
many  respects  suited  her,  and  Lord  Robert's 
wooing  suited  her  very  well  indeed. 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  marry  Mary  Harborough, 
as  soon  as  ever  she  is  ready  to  marry  me;"  he 
told  everybody ;  and  of  course  the  saying  reached 
her  ear.  "  If  she  likes,  she  can  have  me  at  any 
time,"  drawled  Bobby. 

One  day.  Lady  De  Vesci  called  upon  INIary's 
mother.  "  Just  a  little  word  alone  with  you, 
dear.  It  is  about  poor  Lord  Robert,  (not  '  the 
Dashleigh  boy  '  on  this  occasion)  does  dear  Mary 
know?  But  of  course  she  knows?  He  makes 
no  secret  of  his  feelings  ;  and  I  do  think  it  is 
so  good  of  him — so  honourable — to  hold  back 
because,  as  he  tells  every  one,  she  ought  to  do 
better.  Now  the  question  is.  Will  she  do  better  ? 
He  is  only  a  second   son,  to   be   sure,  but   the 


204  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

second  son  of  a  marquis  could  always  be  sure 
of  something — some  Governorship  or  appointment 
at  an  Embassy — something  that  Mary  would  like. 
And  of  course  there  is  always  the  possibility  of 
his  succeeding,  with  his  poor  brother  so  delicate, 
and  no  family.  I  am  only  putting  these  things 
forward  to  you,  dear ;  Mary,  of  course  will  judge 
for  herself ;  she  can  see  how  handsome  and 
charming  he  is ;  I  am  sure  to  see  him  driving 
his  father's  coach  —  and  he  is  so  terribly 
run  after  —  but  we  must  not  tell  Mary 
that " 

"I  really — don't — know;"  said  Lady  Har- 
borough,  deliberately. 

She  was  speaking  the  exact  truth.  She  did 
not  know,  neither  did  her  daughter.  Lord  Robert 
was  the  smartest  and  handsomest  young  man 
in  Town.  And  though  he  drawled,  and  said 
funny  things  by  way  of  not  saying  them  ;  and 
generally  affected  a  simplicity  of  demeanour  which 
was  the  envy  of  real  fools,  there  was  beneath  it 
all  a  considerable  amount  of  mother  wit.  Mary 
Harborough  both  liked  Bobby  and  liked  to  talk 
to  him. 

"  Tell  her  I'm  here;  "  said  he.  This  was  after 
he  had  made  it  up  with  Lady  De  Vesci  anent 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS    UPON    THE   SCENE      205 

the  river  party ;    and  had  confided  truly  in  her, 
by  way  of  atonement. 

"I'm  here  when  I'm  wanted.  But  if  she's  in 
no  hurry,  neither  am  I.  Tell  her  there's  no 
answer  needed.  She  can  have  me  at  any 
time." 

"  You  know  a  great  deal  of  that  manner  of  his 
is  put  on,"  alleged  his  spokeswoman.  "And  we 
can  all  testify  that  he  has  never  so  much  as 
looked  at  a  girl  before.  Not  seriously.  Fast  ? 
Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  never  heard  so.  All  young 
men,  of  course, — but  I  never  heard  a  word  against 
Lord  Robert.  Indeed  the  Dashleighs  are  highly 
respectable,  as  a  rule.  But  now,  do  tell  me," 
getting  somewhat  quickly  off  the  debatable  land 
— "  do  say,  there's  a  dear  creature,  what  you 
think,  and  hovv-  ijoii  feel?  You  would  have  no 
objection?     Nor — nor  Mary's  uncle?" 

At  which  Jonathan's  sister  smiled. 

Lady  De  Vesci  need  not  have  tried  carelessness 
with  her. 

And  she  reported  every  word  to  Mary,  even  to 
the  last  query. 

Mary  however,  took  it  as  nothing  new.  "  Of 
course  they  want  the  dibs,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I 
don't   think  Bobby  wants  them  more  than   the 


206  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

rest  do.  I  don't  know  that  I  could  do  better 
than  Bobby ;  and  if  he  lets  me  alone,  we'll  see 
about  it." 

"All  right;  "  said  he,  when  this  was  repeated 
to  him. 

"Do  you  think  you  hadn't  better  say  some- 
thing?" Lady  De  Vesci  had  suggested,  at  the 
close  of  the  season.  "They  are  going  away 
now;  ought  you  not  to ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  no  !  "  said  he. 

But  one  day,  a  fortnight  after  Mary's  arrival 
at  Losca  Castle,  when  two  sea-blown  nymphs 
came  rollicking  up  from  the  island  shore,  wet 
with  spray  and  wild  with  spirits,  there  was  a 
visitor  in  the  drawing-room,  who  was  not  Sir 
Patrick  Kinellan. 

"  Gracious  me,  it's  Bobby ! "  cried  Mary, 
throwing  a  laughing  glance  up  at  the  window 
beneath  which  the  two  were  hurrying  to  enter 
by  a  side  door.  "Bobby  of  all  people!"  She 
did  not  add  as  another  girl  might  have  done, 
"What's  brought  him  here?" 

"  Who  is  Bobby  ?  "  demanded  her  companion. 
"Is  he  an  a — a ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  an  a — a, — that's  just  what  Bobby  is. 
One  of  them  ;  "  lightly.     "  One  of  the  best,  too. 


'BOBBY'   APPEARS   UPON   THE    SCENE      207 

Well  done,  Bobby!"  under  her  breath.  "Glad 
to  see  you,  Bobby." 

"  But  who  is  Bobby?  "  By  this  time  the  two 
were  inside. 

"Don't  you  call  him  'Bobby.'"  Miss  Har- 
borough  looked  round,  her  chin  slightly  raised. 
"He's  a  friend  of  mine;  but  even  I  only  call 
him  '  Lord  Kobert '  to  his  face.  I  am  not  one 
of  those  girls  who  '  Dicky  '  and  '  Algy  '  the 
men." 

"Is  he  a  lord?"  Sophy  Gill's  eyes  grew 
round. 

"  Not  he.     No  such  luck." 

"  You  said " 

"  Never  mind.  You  don't  need  to  bother  with 
him.  He'll  go  off  with  the  boat,  I  suppose. 
Looked  me  up,  as  he  heard  I  was  here.  Hollo, 
Lord  Eobert  !  "  opening  the  door.  "  Saw  it  was 
you ;  "  said  Mary,  shaking  hands. 

"  Oh  !  "  thought  Sophy  from  behind.  She  had 
never  seen  such  a  man  in  her  life.  The  tall, 
slim,  easy  figure,  the  clear-cut  profile,  the  pose 
of  the  dark,  glossy  head,  and  faultless  clothes — 
taken  all  in  all.  Lord  Bobert  was  a  revelation 
to  her. 

"So  you  are  at  large?"  continued  the  other 


208  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

young  lady,  "  and  I  suppose  you  heard  I  was 
stopping  here.  Aunt  Louisa,"  for  Mrs.  Mercer 
was  sitting  by,  struggHng  with  the  situation, 
"has  Lord  Bobert  Dashleigh  introduced  himself? 
Oh  you've  had  tea,"  with  a  burst  of  reproach, 
"we  thought  we  were  in  splendid  time." 

"  We  had  it  early,  my  dear ;  "  her  aunt  glanced 
at  the  visitor.  "  They  will  bring  another  tea-pot 
for  you." 

Mary  sat  down  and  took  off  her  hat.  She  was 
looking  lovely,  and  might  as  well  have  kept  on 
the  picturesque  green  felt  which  so  well  became 
the  freshly  tinted  cheek  beneath, — but  our  beauty 
never  thought  of  these  things.  The  hat  when 
taken  off  was  found  to  have  pressed  down  her 
loose  brown  hair,  pressed  it  unbecomingly — but 
no  surreptitious  fingers  strayed  that  way.  There 
never  was  a  less  self-conscious  creature. 

"  It  was  grand  down  on  the  shore,"  said  she, 
opening  out  on  her  lap  a  handkerchief  filled  with 
weeds  and  shells.  "Did  you  see  us,  as  you 
passed?  "  to  the  visitor.  "  We  were  close  to  the 
boat.     Was  that  why  you  came  up?  " 

"  Lord  Robert  is  at  the  inn,  my  dear." 

"Is  he?     What  inn?" 

"  Why,  the  inn,  Mary." 


•BOBBY'   APPEARS   UPON   THE   SCENE      209 

"Do  you  mean  Sandy  Maccallum's?  Is  he 
there  /  "  significantly. 

"It  is  not  a  very  good  inn,  I'm  afraid  ;  "  began 
her  aunt. 

"Jolly  ba — ad,"  said  Lord  Robert,  speaking 
for  the  first  time.  At  last  he  had  found  an 
opening. 

"  Jolly  bad,  is  it  ?  "  said  Mary,  coolly.  "  You'd 
better  come  here.     Hadn't  he,  aunt  ?  " 

"Certainly.  Yes,  indeed — Mr.  Mercer  and  I 
— most  happy."  Aunt  Louisa  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion ;  with  an  irreproachable  cook  and  a  host  of 
empty  bedrooms,  she  had  no  need  to  hesitate  on 
any  materialistic  score,  while  with  a  '  lord '  in 
question,  she  could  answer  for  Jonathan.  She 
must  catch  him  by  himself  for  a  moment,  and 
he  could  be  trusted  to  enter  smiling.  "I  suppose 
your  luggage — may  we  send  for  your  luggage  ?  " 
she  now  addressed  the  young  man,  keeping  an 
eye  for  her  husband's  approach  the  while. 

"  Thanks  awfully.    But  really — er "    It  is  a 

fact  that  the  sublime  Dashlei'gh  for  once  in  his 
life  looked  very  nearly  disconcerted.  What  had 
happened  was  what  he  had  meant  to  happen,  but 
somehow  it  was  too  bare-faced. 

"  I  was  going  on ;  "  he  murmured,  feebly. 
15 


210  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Miss  Harborough  shook  her  shells  together, 
and  tied  the  corners  of  the  handkerchief. 

"If  yon  ^oant  to  go  on,  Lord  Robert,  you  can 
just  go  on — but  if  you  want  to  stay,  we'll  let  you 
stay.  You  do  want  ?  Yes,  I  thought  so ;  it 
would  have  been  very  rude  to  me  to  do  anything 
else,  considering  what  old  friends  we  are." 

•  Lord  Robert  looked  at  her.     ("  She's  a  dashed 
sight  too  cool ;  "  thought  he.) 

"Well  now,  let's  talk ; "  continued  Mary,  tossing 
her  sea  bundle  about.  "  Don't  let's  waste  time. 
Aunt  Louisa,  you  and  Bophy  will  forgive  us  if 
we  talk  shop,  won't  you  ?  We've  got  such  a  lot 
to  say,  and  I  have  seen  none  of  my  friends  for 
such  ages.  Oh,  Lord  Robert,"  with  a  rush,  "-is  it 
true  about  Milly  Brancaster  and  Captain  Oaks?" 

In  a  second  the  two  were  off  at  a  gallop  into 
a  world  where  none  present  could  follow  them. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

"WHAT  TIME  IS   YOIW  BOAT  DUE  V 

rilWICE  Lord  Kobert  looked  at  his  watch  while 
■^  being  dressed  for  dinner.  His  nimble  valet 
had  never  known  his  lordship  so  fussy  before. 

But ' '  The  middle-classes  are  always  so  infernally 
punctual,"  muttered  he  to  himself;  and  in  con- 
sequence he  was  ready  long  before  the  gong 
sounded,  and  Frederick  was  sent  to  see  if  there 
were  any  mistake  ? 

Frederick  returned  serene.  "  Not  for  another 
.quarter  of  an  hour,  my  lord."  My  lord  sat  down 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Quarter  of  an  hour  of 
luxurious  solitude  ! 

And  here  he  was  safely  ensconced,  all  things 
propitious.  "  Knew  the  middle-classes  did  thi'in- 
selves  well,"  reflected  he,  glancing  n)und  ;  "  but 
this  is  really  a  cut  above  what  I  expected.     Jolly 


212  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

house — good  old  josser — civil  wife — fat  girl  to 
play  gooseberry  (poor  Sophy) — and  Mary  all 
right."  He  hooked  with  an  elegant  toe,  a  chair 
near,  and  rested  two  elegant  limbs  upon  it.  "I'll 
stay  here  ;  "  concluded  Bobby,  on  whose  part  it 
was  a  condescension  to  stay  anywhere. 

But,  as  a  fact,  he  was  uncommonly  short  of 
cash,  and  in  response  to  filial  application,  had 
been  furnished  with  funds  to  go  and  look  up 
Mary  Harborough. 

At  first  he  had  resisted.  There  was  no  hurry. 
Things  were  not  ripe  yet.  He  didn't  know 
where  Mary  was. 

But  a  busybody  of  the  family  cut  this  latter 
ground  from  under  the  dawdler's  feet.  Miss 
Harborough  was  in  the  very  place  she  ought  to 
be,  at  her  uncle's — at  the  millionaire's — at  Losca 
Castle,  in  the  Isle  of  Mull, — and  what  could  be 
better  than  that  he  should  run  her  to  earth 
there  ?  Not  only  would  he  have  an  opportunity 
of  bringing  matters  to  a  point — (he  had  pro- 
tested, but  been  silenced  by  cogent  argument  and 
powerful  authority) — but  he  could  and  must  in- 
gratiate himself  Vv^ith  the  redoubtable  uncle  Jo. 

"  You  knov/  you  can  be  pleasant,  if  you  like ;  " 
quoth  Lady  Emily,  a  vehement  elder  sister,  who 


"WHAT  TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      213 

held  that  Bobby  was  a  fool,  with  a  fool's  luck. 
He  had  chanced  to  please  a  girl  with  a  prospective 
million,  and,  what  was  still  more  wonderful,  to 
be  pleased  with  her.  He  must  not  be  allowed 
to  ruin  all  by  his  "  slackness." 

"  All  right — all  right — I'll  go  ;  "  he  said,  at  last. 
"  Anything  for  a  quiet  Hfe." 

She  took,  however,  the  precaution  of  seeing 
him  off;  and  also  of  seeing  that  he  had  very  little 
money  to  go  elsewhere.  Beneath  such  super- 
vision Bobby  was  as  nearly  sulky  as  he  knew 
how  to  be ;  but  having  surmounted  the  terrors 
of  the  way,  and  finding  all  now  going  so  com- 
fortably, he  forgave  his  tyrant,  and  even  looked 
round  at  the  writing-table  as  he  thought  of  her. 

He  never  put  pen  and  ink  to  paper,  that  was 
not  his  way— but  to-morrow  he  might  send  a  wire. 
"  She  means  well,  poor  old  girl ;  "  he  smiled  and 
yawned.  "  She  could  come  here  for  tlie  shoot- 
ing time;"  he  further  projected,  letting  fancy 
range.  "Old  fellows  who  do  themselves  well, 
don't  hang  out  long ;  and  Mary  comes  in  for  it 
all.  But  confound  it !  "  his  eye  wandering  to 
the  window,  "  she  wouldn't  want  to  be  here  in 
October,  would  she?  It's  only  to  please  iiiinky, 
surely?     For  a  couple  of  months,  it  would  do — 


214  SIK   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

nice  place  and  jolly  comfortable,  but "  at  this 

moment  the  gong  sounded. 

Down  went  the  gentleman's  legs,  and  he  stood 
upright  on  the  instant. 

At  the  same  instant  the  attentive  Frederick 
re-entered,  having  fully  expected  to  find  his 
master  napping,  all  his  new-born  energy  vanished. 
"It's  serious  this  time,  is  it?"  concluded  the 
valet,  in  consequence. 

Still  more  certain  would  he  have  been  of  its 
seriousness,  had  he  been  present  during  the 
evening  which  followed.  Bobby  had  been  think- 
ing, and  the  outcome  of  his  thoughts  was  this. 
"  It's  got  to  be  done,  or  Emily  will  be  in  a  deuce 
of  a  rage.  She  says  she  won't  stand  between  me 
and  the  governor  any  more,  if  I  fail  her  now. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  Emily,  we  might  have 
waited  a  bit.  However,  even  if  we  are  engaged, 
there's  no  need  to  hurry  about  the  other  thing. 
She'll  be  content  with  the  engagement,  I  sup- 
pose ?  And  Mary  is  all  right.  Never  saw  her 
looking  better.  She  won't  make  a  fuss,  neither. 
That's  not  her  way,  any  more  than  mine.  So 
we'll  just  get  it  over  quietly ;  and  if  Emily 
knows,  she  can  do  all  the  bother  of  telling  people. 
After   all,  it's — it's  got  to  be   done,"   concluded 


"AVHAT  TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"       215 

he,    passively,    and    yawned    and    stared    at   the 
ceiling. 

"Jolly    good    house "    but    he    had    just 

started  on  the  new  vein  when  the  second  gong 
sounded. 

Quick  as  he  was  to  obey  its  summons  however, 
both  host  and  hostess  were  down  before  him. 
"  Knew  it,"  he  reflected,  complacently.  "  Knew 
that  sharp's  the  word  with  the  middle-classes." 
As  he  was  at  Losca  to  please  the  middle-classes, 
and  through  them  his  omnipotent  sister^  he  felt 
really  proud  of  himself.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
I  were  going  to  reform;"  he  smiled  as  he  stood 
on  the  hearth-rug. 

It  was  hearth-rug  time  in  the  north,  and  a 
blazing  fire  of  wood  and  peat  looked  cheerful 
and  seasonable,  despite  the  bright,  clear  weather. 
The  evenings  were  drawing  in,  and  daylight  had 
departed  by  dinner-time  for  the  last  week  or  two 
at  Losca. 

"You  are  better  off  here  than  you  would  have 
been  at  Sandy  Maccallum's,  my  lord."  For  the 
life  of  him  uncle  Jo  could  see  no  harm  in  having 
made  such  a  remark,  though  he  caught  his  niece's 
frown  as  Lord  Robert  cheerfully  acquiesced. 
Why    on    earth? — he    loas    better    off.      "Why 


216  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

should   I   have   left   it  to  him  to  say  so?"  de- 
manded he,  as  he  led  Mary  along. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  taste; "  replied  she. 

"Taste?  I  know  nothing  about  taste.  I 
have  taken  your  fine  gentleman  in,  made  him 
welcome  to  the  best  of  everything,  and  mayn't 
even  pass  a  hospitable  remark !  " 

"Oh  well,  never  mind,"  said  Mary.  And  as  the 
others  followed  into  the  room,  she  v/as  chatting 
in  her  liveliest  strain  to  uncle  Jo. 

It  was  naturally  a  little  difficult  to  make  uncle 
Jo  and  Bobby  chat  together.  Neither  Mr.  nor 
Mrs.  Mercer  knew  anything  about  the  young 
man's  world,  nor  he  about  theirs.  After  a  few 
futile  attempts,  in  which  the  one  person  present 
who  partially  understood  both,  acted  as  a  species 
of  interpreter,  it  was  plain  to  all  that  if  things 
were  not  to  fall  flat,  rein  must  be  given  once 
more  to  the  Londoners.  "  We  had  better  do  the 
talking,  and  let  them  do  the  listening;"  decided 
Mary,  and  all  at  once  she  flared  up. 

"  Go  it,  my  girl  ! "  whispered  uncle  Jo  to 
himself,  amazed  and  enchanted,  as  highsounding 
names  and  places,  reminiscences  and  tittle-tattle 
of  every  sort,  suddenly  burst  forth  in  one  con- 
tinuous stream,  or  rather  torrent.     "  Come  now, 


"WECAT   TIME   IS   YOUE  BOAT   DUE?"       217 

this  is  something  hke!"  his  large  ears  lapping  in 
every  word.  "  Sophy  never  heard  anything  like 
this  before;"  noting  with  approval  her  devouring 
countenance.  "  Sophy  can  go  home  and  tell  'em 
she  heard  my  niece  holding  her  own  with  the  son 
of  a  marquis — even  if  she  hasn't  more  than  that 

to   tell "'  he  broke  off  that,  and  rubbed  his 

hands  under  the  table.  "  Miss  Harborough  didn't 
do  badly  to  run  off  to  old  uncle  Jo,  and  let  her 
swain  follow  her.  If  I  approve — and  why 
shouldn't  I  approve?  You  can't  get  everything. 
There's  only  one  between  him  and  the  title  ; 
anyway  she'd  be  one  of  the  family.  And  he's  a 
good-looking  chap,  and  smart  as  you  make  'em. 
Ye 5,  yes  ;  knev/  what  he  was  about,  to  come 
and  pay  his  respects  in  this  quarter.  I  might 
have  said  '  No '  if  I  had  only  heard  of  it  through 
her  ladyship,  but  a  soft-headed  old  buffer  likes 
to  see  two  young  folks  happy.     Mary  shall  have 

him  if  she  wants  to "  and  he  passed  the  wine 

cheerily. 

"  Look  here,  I  know  you  sing  ;  "  said  Mary,  in 
the  evening.  "  You  sang  that  funny  thing  at  your 
people's  concert " 

"  And  broke  down  in  it  I  I  say,  you  are  cruel," 
said  Bobby,  equably.     Then   he   turned   to   Mr. 


218  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Mercer.  "A  fellow  must  do  what  he's  told,  sir; 
and  I  have  a  sister  who  likes  to  see  us  make  fools 
of  ourselves.     She's  one  of  the  charitable  sort." 

"You  sang  for  a  charity,  eh?"  Although 
Lord  Robert's  remark  might  have  been  taken 
two  ways,  Jonathan  by  luck  hit  on  the  speaker's 
meaning. 

"  Had  to,"  replied  he,  shaking  his  head.  "  Too 
much  fag  to  resist.  Besides,  no  sort  of  use. 
Never  is  any  use  to  fight  a  sister." 

"Nor  to  fight  me,"  said  Mary,  interposing. 
"Come  along  and  sing  at  once," — producing 
"  The  Circus  Girl." 

It  was  dreadful.  Even  old  Jonathan  Mercer 
knew  it  was  dreadful ;  and  even  he  wished  they 
would  stop,  and  when  they  would  not  stop  wished 
he  dared  to  leave  the  room. 

First  of  all,  a  bit  of  a  song  was  strummed  in  a 
fairly  promising  manner,  though  regardless  of 
false  notes ;  then  a  feeble  voice,  not  in  the  least 
like  Lord  Robert's  voice,  was  dimly  conjectured 
to  be  going  to  sing — that  was  as  far  as  it  ever 
got,  Lord  Robert  the  while  bending  very  low  over 
the  music  page,  and  being  encouraged  by  divers 
solitary  notes  of  the  melody,  struck  hard ; — then 
the  striker  would  stop  to  laugh — then  go  back  to 


"  WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE  ?  "      219 

the  beginning — then  there  would  again  be  the 
strumming,  the  humming,  the  few  hard  notes — 
and  invariably  the  same  stoppage  and  laughter. 

Why  in  the  name  of  wonder  did  Mary  not  sing 
herself  ? 

But  it  was  plain  that  Mary,  for  reasons  of  her 
own,  was  not  going  to  sing.  She  had  a  sweet, 
natural  voice,  and  had  charmed  her  uncle  and 
aunt  hitherto ;  to-night  she  was  deaf  to  hints, 
merely  rejoining  "  Oh,  we  are  going  to  try  some- 
thing else;"  every  time  Mrs.  Mercer  made  a  faint 
suggestion.  Mrs.  Mercer  did  not  venture  to  do 
more  ;  both  she  and  her  husband  having  tacitly 
agreed  to  let  the  young  people  steer  their  own 
boat ;  and  accordingly  she  even  so  far  did  violence 
to  her  feelings  as  to  tap  with  her  fan  on  the 
table,  while  Jonathan  emitted  a  bold  '  Bravo ' 
that  nearly  choked  him,  when  piano  and  voice, 
for  once  in  unison,  actually  achieved  a  boisterous 
conclusion. 

But  they  alike  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
the  performers,  apparently  satisfied,  turned  to 
something  less  aggressive.  "  Come  along,  Sophy, 
we'll  have  a  game.  They  don't  play  games; "  said 
Mary,  nodding  at  the  elders,  (which  was  untrue, 
for  aunt  Louisa  played  '  Patience '  morning,  noon. 


220  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

and  night).  "We'll  play  '  Tiddliwinks,' "  cried 
she,  producing  a  box  of  counters.  "  Never  played 
'Tiddliwinks?'"  to  Bobby,  "Do  you  good  to 
learn,  then  ;  " — and  as  the  learning  was  simple, 
and  Bobby  had  delicate  fingers,  he  shone  more 
decidedly  than  at  the  piano.  "What's  this?" 
said  uncle  Jo,  coming  to  look  on. 

"A  lovely  game ;  "  said  Mary,  hopping  on  to 
two  or  three  men  in  succession. 

"  Ripping  ;  "  said  Bobby, — but  he  missed  his 
stroke.  "  She  left  none  for  me,"  he  explained,  look- 
ing up  at  the  spectator.  "  She's  simply  a  dead 
shot ' ' ;  regarding  her  with  admiration .  '  Tiddli- 
winks '  occupied  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 

"I  don't  know  when  you  go  to  bed,"  said  Mr. 
Mercer,  as  the  ladies  departed,  "but " 

"Oh,  as  soon  as  you  please;  "  said  Lord  Eobert, 
hastily.  His  own  room  with  its  comforts,  his 
cigar  case,  French  novel,  and  '  night-cap,'  rose 
before  his  mind's  eye,  and  his  "  Sea-air  makes  one 
so  jolly  sleepy,"  followed  accordingly,  and  was 
graciously  assented  to. 

"  We  are  early  people " 

"  Much  the  best  way  ;  "  said  Bobby,  who  had 
never  been  to  bed  early  in  his  life. 

"  Pon  my  word,  this  is  glorious!  "  thought  he 


"WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      221 

afresh,  as  he  got  into  his  dressing-gown ;  "  Sandy 
Mac-stinker's  indeed!" — with  a  thrill  of  dis- 
gust. 

"  Are  they  doing  you  well  downstairs,  Fred- 
erick ?  "  he  condescended  to  inquire  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  satisfaction. 

Frederick  had  no  fault  to  find. 

"  We — er — may  be  here  some  little  time,"  quoth 
his  lordship,  sipping  from  a  very  long  tumbler. 
"  S'pose  you  won't  object,  eh  ?  " 

Frederick  smiled. 

"  Can  you  amuse  yourself?  " 

"  If  you  please,  my  lord,  shall  you  want  me  to- 
morrow ?  I  mean  after  your  lordship  is  down  for 
the  day?  Only  for  a  few  hours,  my  lord.  Me 
and  the  first  footman — he's  from  my  part ;  it's 
near  where  this  fam'ly  lives  in  the  winter — we 
had  an  idea,  if  we  wasn't  specially  required,  of 
climbing  the  mountain " 

"  Wh — at?"  Lord  Robert,  intensely  amused, 
stopped  with  the  tumbler  mid-way  to  his  lips. 
"  Climbing  the  mountain  !      You  !  " 

"  Very  partial  to  mountaineering,  always  was," 
said  Frederick,  gravely.  "  In  Switzerland,  with 
Captain  Bellingham  as  was  a  climber,  he  kindly 
always  took  me, — never  went  without  me — 1  have 


222  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

my  alpenstock  at  home,  my  lord;  "  with  modest 
pride. 

"  And  you  want  to  climb  this  Ben  Something 
or  other?" 

"  If  you  please,  my  lord." 

"Now  if  that  doesn't  fetch  the  old  un ! " 
reflected  Bobby,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He  wanted 
to  get  me  up  the  Ben ;  but  I'll  do  my  climbing 
by  proxy.  I'll  stick  to  Mary  and  the  shore. 
Frederick's  a  jewel ;  "  —  and  he  smoked  and 
sipped,  and  let  the  novel  lie  unopened  on  his 
knee.     He  was  almost  excited. 

Nothing  therefore  was  less  expected,  more  dis- 
concerting, not  to  say  appalling  than  the  first 
remark  which  fell  from  the  rosy  lips  of  his 
mistress  directly  after  her  morning  greeting. 

She  came  down  looking  so  fresh,  so  pretty,  so 
gay  and  charming  altogether,  that  poor  Sophy 
Gill  who  had  been  dressing  for  hours,  but  who 
had  comparatively  nothing  to  dress  on  or  in — no 
personal  attractions,  nor  a  frock  that  could  com- 
pete with  a  tailor-made  coat  and  skirt  of  the  latest 
cut — could  not  but  sink  still  more  humbly  into 
the  background  than  she  had  done  the  day  before. 
It  was  hopeless  to  try  for  Lord  Eobert's  notice, 
he  would  not  even  affect  to  bestow  it. 


"WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      223 

But  he  was  prepared  for  any  attention,  within 
bounds,  for  the  old  couple. 

It  was  another  still,  blue,  October  day,  and 
Nature  at  its  fairest,  appealed  even  to  his  jaded 
instincts. 

"  Slept  jolly  well,  Frederick; "  he  had  observed, 
as  Frederick  prepared  his  bath.  "  Hope  you  slept 
well,  Frederick  ?  " 

Frederick  thanked  his  lordship,  and  had  enjoyed 
an  excellent  night's  repose. 

"Still  going  to  climb  the  mountain?"  The 
master's  own  resolutions  being  so  very  evanescent, 
it  was  a  matter  of  real  interest  to  know  if  those  of 
the  night  before  still  held  good  in  the  heart  of 
his  valorous  retainer. 

"  I  believe  so,  my  lord." 

"Let  me  know  when  you  come  down,"  said 
Lord  Kobert,  kindly.  "  And — and  don't  overdo 
yourself,  Frederick.  Mountains  are — are  very 
■high.  Don't  go  higher  than  you  need.  And  if 
you  haven't  a  flask " 

"Oh,  thank  you,  my  lord,  I  have  a  flask;  and 
the  housekeeper  is  a  very  civil  person,  and  is 
going  to  attend  to  us  herself." 

"  Pon  my  word,  Fredcnck's  in  c-lovcr,"  quotb 
Bobby  to  himself,  as  he  was  left  alone. 


224  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

He  had  mapped  out  his  own  day  while  dressing, 
although  the  mapping,  perhaps,  did  not  amount 
to  much.  He  would  do  whatever  he  was  told — 
that  was  its  main  outline  ;  whether  yachting, 
driving,  or  '  loafing '  pure  and  simple  were  the 
order  of  the  day,  he  would  be  as  wax  in  the  hands 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mercer  and  their  lovely  niece. 

And  of  course  he  would  tell  his  host  of 
Frederick's  adventurous  energy ;  that  sort  of 
thing  always  gratifies  a  host.  But  he  would  nip 
in  the  bud  any  evil  suggestions  to  which  it  might 
give  rise.  Indeed,  he  had  already  nipped  these, 
and  could  approach  the  subject  without  alarm. 

There  was  another  subject,  however,  to  be 
approached  not  so  easily.  Should  he  or  should  he 
not  take  a  step  forward  on  the  mission  which  had 
brought  him  thither  ?  He  found  himself  contem- 
plating doing  so. 

Only  a  step — because  a  step  once  taken  could 
not  be  retrieved ;  but  still  if  occasion  offered,  and 
all  was  propitious  "  I  might  throv/  out  a  feeler," 
considered  he. 

Before  he  was  ready,  however,  the  '  feeler ' 
hung  in  the  balance.  It  was  so  much  easier  to 
tell  Lady  De  Vesci  that  Mary  could  have  him  at 
any  time,  and  that  there  was  no  hurry,  than  to 


"\VHAT  TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"       225 

pin  both  her  and  himself  down  beneath  old 
Jonathan  Mercer's  millionarish  eye.  No  getting 
out  of  it,  once  that  eye  were  favourable.  "  There 
would  be  no  chance  of  his  suggesting  to  wait ;  " 
sighed  Bobby.  "  It's  all  right,  as  I  tell  Emily. 
I'm  quite  agreeable ;  all  I  ask  for  is  time  to 
breathe." 

He  had  no  pride  ;  he  did  not  care  in  the  least 
who  knew  or  did  not  know  about  this  or  any 
other  of  his  concerns  ;  he  would  have  consulted 
Frederick,  were  he  not  already  conscious  of  a 
strong  undercurrent  propelling  him  forward,  a 
kind  of  mute  invisible  urgency,  which  could  have 
emanated  from  no  one  but  the  faithful  valet. 
"  Frederick's  worse  than  Emily ;  "  he  would 
peevishly  assert  at  times.  "  I  can  talk  it  out  with 
her,  but  I  daren't  say  a  word  to  him." 

And  with  all  this  seething  in  his  brain,  down 
stepped  Bobby  to  the  breakfast  room,  conscious 
-only  of  a  vague,  pleasurable  sensation,  and  certain 
only  of  this,  that  abundance  of  leisurely  oppor- 
tunity lay  before  him. 

Alas,  poor  Bobby  !  INIary  took  her  place  at  the 
breakfast  table. 

"What  time  is  your  boat  due?  "  observed  she, 
carelessly.  "Yes,  please,  some  fishballs,  uncle. 
16 


226  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Of  course  j^ou  can't  know  exactly  ;  "  returning  to 
Lord  Eobert  across  the  table.  "  The  boats  are  so 
demoralised  at  this  herring  season ;  I  heard  about 
that  when  I  came  here  ;  it  means  that  a  boat  has 
to  wait  at  each  pier  till  all  the  herring  barrels  are 
in  ;  and  there  may  be  many,  or  there  may  be  few  ; 
so  that  no  one  can  tell  how  long  they  will  take  to 
be  shipped, — but  you  need  not  be  uneasy,  Lord 
Bobert,  because  we  can  always  get  down  in  time, 
even  if  the  boat  has  rounded  Ardnamurchan  Point 
before  we  can  see  her  smoke.  What  I  was 
thinking  of  was,  that  as  you  probably  don't  need 
to  think  of  going  before  the  afternoon, — you  don't, 
do  you  ?  It  would  do  if  you  got  to  the  mainland 
by  evening  ?  Well  then,  we  might  go  somewhere 
first  ?  Or,  stop  ;  I  have  a  great  idea.  My  uncle 
might " 

"  Certainly.  There's  the  yacht,"  said  he. 
"  We'll  put  your  friend  across  with  pleasure." 

"  It  would  be  most  awfully  good  of  you  if  you 
would  ;  "  said  Lord  Robert.  Not  a  muscle  of  his 
face  betrayed  him. 

"  I  don't  know  very  much  about  the  distances," 
proceeded  he,  in  accents  of  reflective  consideration, 
— (Mary  had  given  him  time,  by  her  lengthy 
opening  address  ;  and  besides  doing  this,  she  had 


"WHAT  TIME   IS  YOUR  BOAT  DUE?"      227 

kept  her  uncle  busy  unlading  his  dishes,  by  which 
means  his  astonishment  was  also  reined  in) — 
"  but  I  must  get  there  sooner  or  later"  ;  and  he 
shook  his  head  profoundly.  For  '  there  '  he  would 
not,  if  asked,  have  knov/n  what  word  to  sub- 
stitute. 

"I  daresay  after  luncheon  would  do,  then?" 
Mary,  busy  with  breakfast,  could  apparently 
speak  with  indilference  of  luncheon  —  or  of 
'  after '  it. 

"  After  luncheon  would  suit  me  perfectly ;  "  said 
Lord  Robert.  "  Only,"  and  he  turned  to  address 
his  host  with  a  studiously  deferential  air,  "  only  I 
should  be  so  sorry  to  be  a  nuisance.  Why  should 
I  give  you  the  bother  of  taking  out  your  yacht '? 
There  are  plenty  of  boats.  It's  onlj'^  Fort  William 
I'm  going  to,"  with  a  desperate  dive  into  memory, 
and  a  violent  struggle  of  the  imagination.  "I 
can  get  there  by  land.  I  can  easily  hire.  Drivmg 
over  the  moors  is  so — so  healthy.     It  will  be  so — 

so "     ("  Oh,    you  minx  !  "    he  was  saying  to 

himself.) 

He  thought  he  could  trust  Frederick  ;  Frederick 
knew  everything  of  course  ;  but  though  he,  as 
vrell  as  his  master,  had  laid  his  plans,  his  manners 
were  equally  irreproachable. 


228  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  Suppose  we  drive  in  the  morning,  then?  "  said 
Mary,  in  clear,  brisk,  anticipatory  tones.  "  Sup- 
pose we  show  Lord  Robert  the  other  side  of  the 
island?  And  what  do  you  say,"  addressing  her 
aunt,  "  to  looking  in  at  Kinellan?  It  is  such  a 
romantic  old  place  ;  and  we  could  excuse  our  going 
so  early  to  Sir  Patrick,  because  really  it  is  Lord 
Robert's  only  time." 

("  Owing  to  you  ;  "  thought  Lord  Robert,  indig- 
nantly.) 

But  he  continued  to  eat  and  drink,  and  even 
contrived  to  throw  a  species  of  pleased  expectation 
into  the  glance  he  cast  towards  the  head  of  the 
table. 

Mrs.  Mercer  poured  some  tea  straight  into  the 
tea-tray.  "  Dear  me  !  T  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else,"  said  she.  "  What — what  were  you 
saying,  my  dear?  " 

("  What,  indeed  !  "  mentally  echoed  Bobby.) 

"  I  said  it  plainly  enough,  aunt."  A  slight  im- 
patience on  the  part  of  the  beauty.  "  I  thought 
you  were  listening;"  severely.  "It  was  about 
Kinellan.  I  suggested  we  should  storm  Kinellan. 
Sir  Patrick  is  always  asking  us " 

"  Certainly.     But " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  '  buts.'     He  won't." 


"WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT  DUE?"      229 

"Very  well,  my  dear,"  tremulously.  ("What 
can  she  be  dreaming  of  ?  To  go  to  his  very  house  ! 
To  go  with  the  other  man!     To  take  him  and 

parade  him ")    "Yes,  yes,  Mary.    Yes,  I  think 

we  really — Sir  Patrick  would  understand,  as  you 
say.     Though  we  never  have  gone  like  this " 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  we  never  should.  Shall 
we  order  the  carriage  at  eleven  ?  " 

"You  won't  have  the  yacht?"  interposed 
Jonathan. 

"  We'll  have  it  later.  At  three,  or  half  past. 
I  run  this  show,  as  you  see  ;  "  Mary  laughed  across 
the  table.  *'  I  don't  always.  Lord  Robert ;  but 
you  are  my  guest,  and  I  have  got  to  see  you  well 
done  by, " 

("  You  wicked,  wicked  minx!  "  thought  he.) 

"  So  it's  settled  that  we  spend  the  day  in  the 
open  air ;  "  the  young  lady  ran  on.  "  Sophy,  you 
can  come  too.  We'll  have  out  the  big  carriage. 
And  look  here,"  to  the  abject  Bobby,  "  don't  you 
be  late.     Eleven  means  eleven  in  this  house " 

("  Middle-classes,"  commented  he,  this  time 
with  an  angry  groan.) 

— "  And  of  course  you  must  have  your  little 
smoke,  or  your  any  number  of  little  smokes, 
first.     You  can  go  out  on  the   terrace,  and    I'll 


230  SIE   PATKICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

keep  an  eye  on  you  from  my  window.  Don't  go 
out  of  sight.  Aunt  Lou,  I  have  letters  to  answer, 
may  I  go  ?  " 

"Mary,  Mary,  what  is  all  this  about?"  cried 
aunt  Lou,  behind  the  door.     "  Is  it  his  doing  ;  or 

your  doing?     Or  whose  doing  ?     Is  it ?  " 

"  My  dear  aunt,  v/hat  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
"I'm  talking  about  Lord  Bobert  Dashleigh," 
said  the  old  lady,  sturdily;  "of  course  he  came 

because  you  were  here " 

"  And  he  is  going  for  the  same  reason." 

"  You  have  refused  him,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     He  has  never  asked  me." 

"  Yet  you  say  he  is  going  because " 

"  Because  I'm  here.  So  he  is.  Because  I  have 
engaged  to  rid  the  house  of  his  presence.  Because 
a  few  more  hours  of  it  vv^ould — my  dear,"  affec- 
tionately, "you  and  uncle  Jonathan  are  good  and 
kind  and  simple,  you  are  no  match  for  people  like 
Bobby  Dashleigh.  I  don't  want  to  open  your 
eyes  till  he's  gone ;  you  may  as  well  go  on  being 
civil  to  him  for  the  short  remainder  of  his  stay — 
(for  you  won't  see  him  again  at  Losca  Castle,"  in 
parenthesis)  —  "but  you  shall  never  be  able  to 
cast  it  up  to  me  that  if  I  brought  him  down  upon 
you,  I  did  not  also  deliver  you  from  him." 


"WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      231 

"  You — you  seemed  so  glad  to  see  him,  Mary?" 

"I  was  glad — a  little  glad — for  a  little  time. 
Bobby  is  nice  enough  in  his  own  way,  and  in  his 
own  place.  But  here  "■ — and  she  looked  round, 
her  eyes  suddenly  lighting  up—"  here  !  My  dear 
aunt,  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  felt  when  I  woke 
this  morning  and  remembered  he  was  here." 

"  Mary  !  " 

"  I  did,  indeed.  But  not  a  word  to  uncle  Jo, 
or  Sophy.  We  must  keep  it  up.  Bobby  has  a 
nasty  edge  to  his  tongue " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  speak  like  that.  Bather 
say  we  must  not  fail  in  hospitality." 

"  All  right ;  "  Mary  laughed.  "  Sounds  better, 
doesn't  it  ?  And  Bobby's  nasty  edge  is  pretty 
feeble.  He  does  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  be 
malicious;  he  only  spits  out  little  venomous 
pebbles  when  they  lie  right  under  his  tongue. 
There  are  many  others  like  him  in  London." 

"  London  must  be  a "  Mrs.  Mercer  checked 

herself.  "  You  don't  give  London  a  very  good 
name,  Mary." 

"  Because  London — mij  London — is  not  a  very 
good  place,  aunt." 

"  A  place  is  what  you  make  it,  my  dear." 

Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders. 


232  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  Sometimes  I  think  I  should  like  to  cut  it  alto- 
gether ;  "  she  began,  then  hesitated,  as  though  on 
the  brink  of  saying  something  more.  "  Aunt 
Louisa?"  interrogatively. 

"Well?"  said  her  aunt. 

"  Would  uncle  Jo — what  would  he  say  if — has 
he  set  his  heart  on — but,"  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone,  "  I  won't  bother  with  it  now.  First,  get 
rid  of  Bobby;  then  we'll  see  ;  "  oracularly.  "  One 
thing  at  a  time  ;  "  and  she  moved  off. 

With  this  idea,  who  so  lively  and  full  of  spirits 
presently,  as  Miss  Harborough,  "  Out  on  the 
spree"  as  she  said, — though  'Why,  the  spree?' 
mentally  demanded  the  disconsolate  young  man 
who  sat  opposite  ? 

He  had  been  offered  the  box-seat,  Mary  herself 
suggesting  "  Like  to  sit  up  there?  " — (Whereat  a 
young  footman  who  wanted  to  go  elsewhere, 
blessed  her  in  his  heart,  foreseeing  deliverance ;)  — 
but  Lord  Eobert  had  pleaded  miserably,  "  There's 
no  back  up  there." 

He  felt  spiritless  and  backless,  only  fit  to  crawl 
inside  and  loll. 

He  had  not  wished  to  come  to  Losca ;  indeed 
when  the  scheme  was  originally  propounded,  he 
had  stigmatised  it  as  absurd  and  disagreeable,  and 


"WHAT   TIME  IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      233 

an  invention  of  Lady  Emily — (which  phrase  had 
its  own  interpretation  for  him),  —  but  having 
drunk  the  nauseous  draught,  and  found  it  less 
unpalatable  than  it  might  have  been,  it  took  all 
the  life  out  of  him  to  find  he  would  have  done 
well  not  to  raise  the  cup  to  his  lips.  "  Made 
a  mess  of  it  altogether!  "  he  told  himself;  but 
even  as  he  thus  spoke,  a  gleam  flitted  across  his 
brow.  It  would  be  something  to  tell  his  sister 
that  the  mess  had  been  made. 

From  such  perfunctory  consolation  the  dreamer 
was  however  somewhat  sharply  roused  by  an 
exclamation  from  the  ladies.  They  were  now 
within  the  precincts  of  Kinellan,  and  had  simul- 
taneously caught  sight  of  its  owner,  at  a  bend  of 
the  avenue.  "  Stop  ;  "  cried  they  both;  and  the 
next  minute  Sir  Patrick  stood  by  the  carriage 
door. 

"  We  were  hoping  you  might  excuse  an  early 
call,"  began  Mrs.  Mercer,  "  but  Lord  Eobert 
Dashleigh  " — Dashleigh  bowed,  and  Sir  Patrick 
responded — "  has  to  leave  us  this  afternoon,  and 
— and " 

"And  he  can't  go  without  seeing  Kinellan." 
Sir  Patrick  raised  his  eyes  to  the  new  speaker's 
face.     "  We  knew  you  would  let  us  come,"  con- 


234  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

tinned  the  easy-going  voice;  "7  knew,  anyway. 
My  aunt  thought  it  rather  cool, " 

"  We  only  want  to  look  round  ;  "  put  in  the  aunt. 

"  Suppose  we  all  get  out  ?  "  said  Mary. 

A  mischievous  delight  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  an 
incomprehensible  vivacity  dictated  her  move- 
ments. She  threw  back  the  carriage  rug  and 
stood  upright,  looking  to  be  let  loose  as  a  bird 
from  its  cage  ; — she  flashed  glances  from  one  to 
another  which  had  in  them  such  covert  amuse- 
ment and  significance,  that  the  gravity  on  every 
other  face  deepened, — and  she  finally  alighted  on 
the  velvet  turf  by  Sir  Patrick's  side  with  a  spring 
that  was  little  short  of  a  flying  leap. 

Sir  Patrick's  disregarded  hand  still  remained 
stretched  out. 

He  felt  bewildered  and  mystified,  conscious  of 
something  in  the  air,  and  unable  to  divine  what 
it  was. 

For  the  past  fortnight  he  had  been  thinking, 
breathing,  dreaming — Mary :  but  Mary  in  the 
flesh  he  had  only  seen  a  few  times. 

"'Why  doesn't  that  'Puddock'  come  over 
oftener?"  she  had  cried  to  Sophy,  again  and 
again.  "Why  doesn't  he,  I  say?"  And  in  so 
many  words  she  had  desired  him  to  come. 


"WHAT   TIME    IS   YOUR   BOAT    DUE?"      235 

He  had  smiled  and  thanked  her  and  complied 
reservedly.  Then  he  had  gone  home  to  silence 
the  great  throbs  of  his  heart,  and  force  down  by 
sheer  dint  of  will,  its  sophistries. 

Why,  oh  why,  had  this  thing  come  upon  him  ? 

Once  Mary  sang.  It  was  not  singing  time,  not 
the  recognised  hour  for  musical  performance, — 
but  Sir  Patrick,  rising  to  depart  at  the  close  of 
a  formal  call,  had  been  thrust  back  into  his  seat 
by  well-meaning  hands,  "  For  it's  simply  pelting," 
cried  Jonathan, — and  while  it  pelted,  and  while 
the  visitor,  thus  detained,  sat  still  in  the  dusky 
twilight,  Miss  Harborough  wandered  to  the 
piano. 

AVe  have  said  that  she  had  a  sweet  voice,  and 
it  was  moreover  one  which  touched  and  pene- 
trated. The  pure  notes  fell  upon  one  listener's 
ear  like  fountain  drops  upon  a  thirsty  land. 

By  little  and  little  he  approached  her.  Ordinai-y 
politeness  dictated  some  token  of  appreciation, 
some  semblance  of  gratitude ;  at  last  he  was 
standing  by  her  side,  his  broad  chest  heaving, 
his  fingers  trembling  as  he  turned  the  leaves. 

"  I  do  think  Mary  ought  to  let  that  man  alone  ;  " 
said  Mrs.  Mercer,  crossly. 

Long  ago  she  had  seen  her  hopes  in  another 


236  SIR  PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

quarter  vanish,  and  thanked  her  stars  that 
matters  had  gone  no  further;  while  a  side  issue 
of  the  affair  afforded  her  unmitigated  satisfaction. 
All  subsequent  good  behaviour  on  the  part  of  poor 
plain  Sophy  Gill,  could  never  quite  obliterate  from 
the  mind  of  her  patroness  the  fact  that  Sophy 
hated  ugly  men. 

In  consequence,  triumph  had  been  great  in  the 
first  instance  when  the  beautiful  Mary  openly 
declared  in  favour  of  the  despised  Sir  Patrick. 

Mary,  however,  wiling  the  heart  out  of  The 
Puddock's  bosom  with  witching  songs  and  looks, 
was  quite  another  matter.  "She  just  shan't;" 
said  Mary's  aunt,  and  wended  her  way  with  reso- 
lute feet  pianowards. 

But  she  could  do  nothing  with  the  two  when 
she  got  there.  Mary  told  her  to  sit  down,  and 
played  the  prelude  of  a  fresh  melody,  while  Sir 
Patrick  pulled  round  a  chair  for  his  hostess. 

He  did  not  occupy  one  himself ;  he  returned  to 
stand  and  absorb. 

"  Do  you  like  that?  "  enquired  the  singer,  turn- 
ing up  her  face. 

If  he  had  been  stone,  marble,  Portland  cement 
— he  must  have  liked  it.  His  dark  cheek  burned, 
his  eyes  glowed. 


"WHAT   TIME   IS   YOUR   BOAT   DUE?"      237 

"This  will  never  do;"  Mrs.  Mercer  beat  the 
floor  with  her  feet.  "  Sir  Patrick  ?  "  she  said, 
aloud. 

Sir  Patrick  heard  nothing. 

"  Sir  Patrick '?  " 

He  started,  and  turned  on  her  a  blank  look. 

"Let  me  send  you  home  in  a  close  carriage," 
cried  she,  with  a  happy  idea — {"  Of  course  he'll  say 
he  won't  have  it,  and  then  he  must  go,"  inwardly) — 
"  Do,  Sir  Patrick.     It's  getting  late " 

"  Is  it?"  said  he,  dreamily. 

"Late?  Nonsense,"  said  Mary;  but  after  a 
momentary  hesitation,  warned  perhaps  by  her 
aunt's  tone,  she  rose  from  the  music  -  stool. 
"There,  it  is  only  six  o'clock;  "  said  she,  as  a 
timepiece  rang  out  the  hour. 

Sir  Patrick,  however,  understood  he  had  to  go, 
and  now  indeed  was  almost  glad  to  go. 

He  shivered  as  he  hurried  home  beneath  the 
wreathing  mists — but  not  with  cold. — He,  cold? 
He  was  hot — hot  as  fire. 

And  strange  sounds  were  heard  that  night 
emanating  from  the  far  corner  of  th  vast  saloon, 
where  the  unused  old  piano  stood. 

Only  the  narrow  lid  covering  the  notes  was 
raised,  as  though  surreptitiously. 


238  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Two  candles  lit  the  corner,  with  a  pale,  faint 
light. 

And  here  Sir  Patrick  was  softly  picking  out 
tunes  with  one  finger,  like  a  child ;  correcting 
himself  by  ear,  when  he  made  a  mistake ; — and 
here  he  was  disturbed  presently  by  his  after- 
dinner  coffee ;  and  turned  with  a  start,  and 
muttered  something  that  might  have  been  an 
apology  when  he  found  it  at  his  elbow. 

It  was  a  chill,  silent  night,  and  the  servants 
were  glad  when  the  eerie  sounds  ceased. 


CHAPTER  X 

''DID  HE   SAY  IT   WAS  IMPUDENT?" 

rjlHIS  had  happened  very  shortly  before  Lord 
Robert  Dashleigh's  appearance  on  the  scene, 
and  Sir  Patrick  had  not  been  met  by  any  of  the 
Losca  people  since.  He  had  rigidly  kept  out  of 
their  way. 

He  could  not,  however,  anticipate  an  invasion 
so  early  in  the  day,  and  might  have  deemed  his 
own  secluded  grounds  impregnable  at  almost  any 
time  ;  wherefore  he  was  now  most  literally  taken 
at  unawares,  as  one  person  of  the  party,  at  any 
•rate,  intended  him  to  be. 

She  had  an  idea  that  he  would  appear  to 
advantage — and  he  did.  Whatever  his  private 
sensations  might  be,  no  one  would  have  guessed 
from  Sir  Patrick's  outward  demeanour  that  he 
was  experiencing  anything  but  the  courteous 
desire  of  a  host  to  gratify  the  inclinations  of  his 

239 


240  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

guests,  and  to  exhibit  for  their  pleasure  and 
amusement  anything  he  had  to  show. 

He  walked  first,  escorting  Mrs.  Mercer;  Lord 
Eobert,  with  the  young  ladies,  followed. 

They  turned  aside  when  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  house,  and  the  spacious,  old-fashioned 
gardens,  well-stocked,  well-cared  for,  and  rich 
with  ruddy-tinted  fruit,  were  duly  exhibited  and 
pillaged  from.  They  strolled  down  broad  grass 
paths  between  a  bright  tangle  of  autumn  flowers 
on  either  side,  and  entered  the  greenhouses, 
steaming  with  moist  fragrance. 

"  Sir  Patrick,"  said  Mary,  running  forward, 
"are  we  to  nip  and  pick?" 

"Anything  and  everything;"  said  he,  with  a 
smile. 

"What  a  lovely  rose!"  It  was  pure  white, 
and  hung  towards  the  speaker.  She  looked  from 
it  to  its  owner,  with  arch,  piquant,  provocative 
interrogation.  There  was  but  one  thing  for  him 
to  do. 

"Do  you  hear?  We  are  all  to  take  what  we 
like  ;  "  said  she,  turning  to  the  rest.  "  Sir  Patrick 
says  so.  This  rose  is  my  beginning,  but  I  must 
have  some  more.  Lord  Eobert,  don't  you  want  a 
buttonhole?  " 


"DID  HE   SAY   IT  WAS  IMPUDENT?"       241 

("  Just  as  if  we  had  nothing  at  Losca  I " 
muttered  Mrs.  Mercer.) 

But  Sir  Patrick  looked  placidly  on.  He  was 
accustomed  to  having  his  gardens  admired ;  and 
presently  he  led  the  party  through  a  mossy 
archway  to  see  a  ruined  chapel ;  and  again  over 
a  rustic  bridge  and  up  a  steep  incline  towards  the 
terrace,  his  favourite  resort. 

"Isn't  it  a  dear  old  place?"  He  heard  the 
enthusiastic  voice  behind,  and  did  not  turn  his 
head. 

Whereat,  Mary  again  ran  on,  and  joined  him. 
She  was  forever  flitting  between  the  two 
groups ;  either  appealing  to  one  man  or  the 
other. 

She  would  see  everything ;  and  show  Lord  Robert 
everything. 

The  fine  old  hall  with  its  trophies ;  the  panelled 
corridors  with  their  faded  tapestries ;  the  pictures 
-^mostly  family  portraits;  the  views  from  the 
long  deep-set  windows. 

She  took  what  might  have  been  a  proprietary 
pride  in  the  grey  walls  now  shining  in  the  sun- 
Hght,  but  strong  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  wildest 
storms.  Once  she  might  have  been  seen  looking 
from   them   to   the    gentle   face   of    their    lord ; 

17 


242  SIR   PATRICK;    THE   PUDDOCK 

perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  a  curious  resem- 
blance between  the  two. 

No  one  else  enjoyed  the  scene.  Mrs.  Mercer 
was  irritated  with  so  much  display ;  Lord  Robert 
felt  affronted  and  bored :  Sophy,  limp  and  envious ; 
while  from  time  to  time,  across  the  proud,  noble 
brow  of  their  host,  there  flitted  a  look  of  pain. 

"There,  now  we've  seen  everything;"  cried 
the  saucy  girl,  at  last.  "Every  single  thing; 
and  it's  all  beautiful.  Now  we'll  leave  you  in 
peace  ;  "  nodding  to  Sir  Patrick  : — (Well  she  knew 
there  would  be  no  peace  for  him  !)  "  Go  back  to 
your  owls  and  your  bats,  and  think  how  much 
nicer  they  are  than  horrid  people  like  us.  Aunt, 
the  carriage.  Oh,  here  it  is.  Dear  me,  I've 
dropped  my  rose :  "  wheeling  round  so  suddenly 
as  nearly  to  knock  against  those  behind. 

"  It  is  here  ;  "  said  Sir  Patrick,  in  a  low  voice. 

And  he  held  it  out  to  her,  and  she  took  it,  but 
the  glib  retort  on  her  lips  did  not  find  an  utter- 
ance. With  a  mere  "Thank  you"  she  fastened 
it  somewhat  hurriedly  once  more  in  her  bosom, 
and  he  watched  in  silence. 

Mrs.  Mercer  now  prepared  to  make  due  acknow- 
ledgements. 

"  I'm  sure  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you," 


"DID   HE    SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       243 

said  she  stepping  up  to  her  host,  feeling  that  so 
much  ought  to  be  said,  despite  her  own  thoughts 
and  reservations.  "You  have  been  very  kind, 
and " 

"And  patient,"  again  the  laughing,  heedless 
voice  interposed.  "You  have  borne  with  us  to 
admiration.  Come  to  me  for  a  character  when 
you  want  a  situation." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mary,  stepping  back  as  she  was 
about  to  follow  her  aunt  into  the  carnage,  "  I 
think  I'll  have  my  cloak  on.     Give  it  me,  Sophy. 

And  will  you ?"     She  came  close  up  to  Sir 

Patrick  and  turned  on  him  the  full  lustre  of  two 
soft,  beseeching  eyes  ;  then  slowly  held  the  cloak 
towards  him. 

He  drew  it  round  her.  As  he  did  so,  the  lowest, 
sweetest  murmur  floated  between,  "  Forgive  me." 
A  deep  flush  mounted  to  his  cheek.   .   .  . 

But  Bobby  found  his  charmer  positively  un- 
bearable during  the  remaining  hours  of  his  stay 
at  Losca  Castle.  Hitherto  to  be  tormented  by 
her  had  been  one  of  the  pensive  pleasures  of  his 
life,  but  there  was  a  novel  flavour  in  her  present 
badinage  which  was  simply  odious  to  his  palate. 

It  was  no  longer  good-natured  ;  it  stung,  and 
he  was  sure  she  meant  it  to  sting. 


244  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  'Pon  my  word,  I  wouldn't  be  paid  to  live  with 
that  girl !  "  cried  he  to  himself,  smarting  all  over. 
"And  one  thing  I  know,  she  and  Emily  would 
have  been  at  each  other  hke  fighting  cocks  before 
a  month  was  out.  Lucky  she  has  shown  her 
teeth,  the  vixen  !  And  won't  I  tell  Emily  what 
she  nearly  let  me  in  for?  It's  the  middle-class 
temper,"  he  decided,  conscious  of  giving  "a 
nasty  one  "  in  return,  by  the  allusion.  "  They're 
a  low  lot,  and  dear  at  the  price;"  disgust  in- 
creasing. 

"And  now  I've  got  to  go  and  be  sick  on  his 
beastly  yacht !  "  For  the  day  had  clouded  over, 
and  a  wind  was  getting  up.  "  And  she'll  be  there 
to  grin  at  me  !  "  concluded  the  wretched  youth,  at 
his  lowest  ebb. 

But  he  was  spared  this  last  straw. 

"  Take  him  away ;  "  Mary  issued  commands  to 
her  uncle  in  as  imperious  a  tone  as  though  he, 
not  she,  had  saddled  them  with  the  incubus. 
"  For  goodness  sake,  uncle  Jo,  don't  say  it  is 
too  rough.  You  don't  mind,  and  we'll  lump  his 
feelings.  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  what  I  am  doing.  I 
have  given  Bobby  a  trial,  and  he  won't  need 
another.  It  has  been  a  little  hard  on  him;  but 
he  brought  it  on  himself.     He  ought   never   to 


"DID   HE    SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       245 

have  let  me  see  him  out  of  London.  To  come 
down    here,    to    put     himself    into    comparison 

with "  she  checked  herself  and  ran  on  hastily. 

"Now  just  cart  him  oft",  there's  a  dear;  and  let 
us  be  done  with  it.  I  won't  go.  Sophy  can,  if 
she  likes." 

"  She  must.  I  can't  have  him  by  himself ;  " 
cried  Jonathan,  alarmed. 

"All  right.  She's  expecting  it.  Perhaps  it 
will  cure  her  new-born  adoration  too  ;  "  with  a 
grim  touch.  "  Bobby  won't  look  nice  at  sea. 
Now,  uncle," —  finger  upheld — "  I've  got  a  head- 
ache.    Understand  ?  " 

But  he  caught  her  sleeve  as  she  turned  to  go. 

"  One  word,  Mary.     This  is  the  end  of  it?  " 

"  Pooh !  It  wasn't  big  enough  to  have  an 
end  ;  "  contemptuously. 

"  You  couldn't  fancy  him?  "  Somewhat  crest- 
fallen. 

"That  was  just  what  I  could  have  done.  I 
could  have  *  fancied  '  him,  if  he  had  never  let  me 
see  him  except  in  London  ball-rooms,  or  at  polo- 
matches  and  race-meetings — he  looked  lovely  at 
Ascot  and  Hurlingham,  he  really  did,— and  though 
one's  hfe  isn't  made  up  of  Ascot  and  Hurlingham, 
I  might  have  been  fooHsh  enough  to— you  know 


246  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

what.  But  that's  over;  I've  seen  Bobby  as 
Bobby  is,  and  he's  simply  no  go.  You  are  dis- 
appointed, dear?" — more  gently.  "And  I  am 
sorry,  for  I  wouldn't  vex  you  for  the  world. 
Aunt  Lou  has  been  very  good  and  kind  too.  I 
should  have  liked  to  please  you  both " 

"  Never  mind ;  never  mind,"  said  he. 

"  There  are  better  fish  than  he  in  the  sea, 
uncle  Jo.  We'll  throw  out  another  net  one  of 
these  days." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Mary." 

"  So  you  just  get  this  thing  out  of  the  way,  and 
don't  worry  about  him." 

"  So  I  will ;  "  said  he,  lighting  his  pipe. 

Mrs.  Mercer,  however,  was  not  so  phlegmatic. 

"  I  must  say  I'm  surprised  at  Mary  ;  "  she  drew 
her  husband  aside  on  his  return  from  accomplish- 
ing his  mission.  "  Not  that  I  thought  much  of 
Lord  Eobert ;  he  had  a  silly  laugh,  and  was  for- 
ever yawning  when  he  went  to  the  window  by 
way  of  looking  out — but  he  was  the  same  to-day 
that  he  was  yesterday,  when  she  made  quite  a 
work  with  him — it  was  '  Lord  Robert,  do  you 
remember  this  ?  '  and  '  Lord  Robert,  what  did 
you  think  of  that  ?  ' — all  their  fine  Loudon  talk, 
and  seeming  as  pleased  as  Punch  with  each  other 


"DID   HE   SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       247 

— so  how  was  the  poor  man  to? — 1  do  think 
Mary — "  strugghng  between  righteous  severity 
and  accustomed  indulgence,  "  I  do  think  she  did 
not  behave  as  I  should  have  liked  a  daughter  of 
mine  to  behave." 

"Your  daughter,"  burst  forth  Jonathan,  for  he 
had  been  thinking  so  nearly  the  same  thing 
himself,  that  he  could  not  endure  to  hear  it  said. 
"  Your  daughter,  ma'am,  and  my  niece  are — 
would  have  been — different  persons." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  she,  drawing  herself  up.  "  I 
suppose  she  would  have  been  your  daughter  too  ? 
Don't  be  ridiculous.  I'm  as  fond  of  Mary  as  I 
can  be,  but  I  can  see  her  faults  ;  which  you  never 
could  nor  would.     That's  what  has  spoilt  her." 

"  Spoilt  her!  "  cried  he,  reddening. 

"Well,  she  is  self-willed,  Jonathan.  And 
masterful.  And  thinks  the  world  was  made 
for  her — Oh,  you'll  say  it  was " 

"I'll  stand  by  her,  anyhow." 

"  And  you  don't  think  she  has  treated  poor 
Lord  Kobert  badly?" 

He  did  think  so,  but  did  not  choose  to  say  so. 

"  It's  no  business  of  ours ;  "  he  alleged,  stoutly. 
"We  don't  understand  how  they  manage  these 
things  in  high  life.     Mary  does;   and  she   made 


248  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

no  more  of  sending  her  fine  gentleman  to  the 
right  about  than  I  should  of  dismissing  a  ghillie 
boy.     You  may  trust  Mary  ;  "  uneasily. 

Mrs.  Mercer  coughed  behind  her  hand.  Her 
husband  had  not  seen  what  went  on  at  Kinellan. 

"  There'll  be  another  there  ;  "  muttered  she,  to 
herself — but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  broach 
the  subject  of  Sir  Patrick.  Jonathan  had  moods; 
and,  from  long  experience,  she  knew  that  he  was 
now  in  an  unmanageable  mood.  She  knew  that 
he  was  neither  speaking,  nor  thinking  the  truth ; 
that  is,  he  was  forcing  himself  to  accept  as 
straightforward  dealing  that  from  which  his  own 
integrity  revolted.  A  wife  must  needs  pity  a 
husband  in  such  straits. 

"  I'll  not  give  him  another  pill  to  swallow  ;  " 
decided  she,  sacrificing  her  desire  for  sympathy. 
"  Time  enough  for  it,  when  he  has  digested  this." 
Aloud,  "  Ahem  !  " 

Jonathan  regarded  her  with  lowered  brows. 
Was  she  going  to  begin  it  all  over  again  ? 

"  You  would  have  a  nasty  crossing?  "  said  the 
old  lady,  mildly. 

A  grunt. 

"  Poor  Sophy  would  be  frightened?  " 

He  faced  round,  and  stood  before  her. 


"DID   HE    SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"      249 

"  Look  here,  old  lady,  never  mind  the  crossing, 
and  never  mind  Sophy.  Let's  have  this  out.  I'm 
not  saying  I  don't  agree  with  you  to  a  certain 
extent — only  to  a  certain  extent,  mind,"  emphati- 
cally, "  about  that  young  man.  I  wish  she  hadn't 
let  it  go  so  far " 

*'  Oh,  Jonathan,  that's  ail  I  mean,  indeed  it  is. 
But  when  I  think  of  our  all  sitting  round  the 
dinner-table  last  night,  so  brisk  and  comfortable, 
and  Mary  looking  like  a  princess  " — a  relenting 
gleam  relaxed  his  features — "  didn't  she  now,  in 
that  lovely,  shiny,  white  dress?  And  such  spirits 
as  she  was  in  !  When  I  think  of  him  and  her,  and 
the  talking  and  laughing  that  went  on — and  in 
the  evening  her  flattering  up  the  poor  fellow,  and 
making  him  sing  when  a  mouse  could  have 
chirped  better — I  do  protest,  Jonathan,  that  sing- 
ing of  his  was  almost  more  than  flesh  and  blood 
could  bear,  though  I  did  my  best  to  tap  on  the 
table  for  Mary's  sake, " 

"  It  was  terrible  ;  "  owned  he,  candidly. 

*'  But  we  both  thought  it  was  all  arranged, 
didn't  we  now?" 

"  It  looked  like  it.     But " 

"  Let  me  finish,  Jonathan.  And  I'll  not  say 
another  word  against  Mary  ever  after.     Just  tell 


250  SIR   PATRICK:   THE   PUDDOCK 

me  if  you  don't  in  your  heart  tlnnk  that — 
that " 

"What?" 

"  That  poor  dear  Mary  has,  for  once  in  her 
hfe,  behaved  foohshly  ?  " 

It  was  such  a  very  mild  not  to  say  inadequate 
sentence,  to  be  dehvered  so  oracularly  from  the 
judgment  throne,  that  old  Jo  laughed  long  and 
loud,  and  the  situation  v^as  at  an  end. 

And  Mary ;  of  what  was  she  thinking,  and  how 
was  she  feeling  who  seemed  to  make  so  little 
account  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others  ? 

As  long  as  she  was  within  sight  or  sound  of  the 
three  pairs  of  eyes  and  ears  on  the  watch,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  our  young  lady  played  the  game 
to  admiration.  Into  their  midst  she  strode  with 
a  free  and  easy  step  just  as  the  above  dialogue 
came  to  a  close,  and  Sophy  entered  by  another 
door  ;  and  her  : 

"Well  uncle,  landed  your  cargo?  And  how 
did  he  go  off?  "  was  delivered  with  a  sang  f void 
that  almost  made  her  aunt  blush  for  her. 

Even  her  uncle  replied  briefly. 

"  Well,  Sophy,  how  did  you  get  on  ?  "  demanded 
she,  next. 

A  pparently  Sophy  had  not  '  got  on '  at  all. 


"DID   HE    SAY  IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       251 

"  You  look  mighty  lugubrious ; "  quoth  the  prin- 
cess, flashing  round  glances  which  had  in  them  a 
curious  mingling  of  scorn  and  amusement,  "  but, 
my  dears,  believe  me  there  is  nothing  to  be 
lugubrious  about.  A  little  contretemps  like  this  !  " 
And  she  laughed  ostentatiously. 

Presently  she  was  buried  in  a  book.  If  no  one 
were  disposed  for  conversation,  she  could  be  as 
quiet  as  the  rest. 

When  one  and  another  had  left  the  room  how- 
ever, away  went  the  book — our  student  had  not 
read  a  v/ord — and  up  started  a  petulant  figure 
with  a  jerk  ;  a  window  was  flung  open,  and  the 
night-air  tore  into  the  room,  banging  a  door, 
and  making  havoc  of  all  light  articles  scattered 
about.  Halfway  over  the  window-sill  Mary  tlirew 
herself. 

She  wanted  to  think.  But  can  one  think  when 
the  blood  is  in  a  ferment,  and  chaos  reigns  with- 
in? When  everything  is  strange,  untried,  un- 
certain? It  was  by  no  means  for  the  first  time 
that  a  sense  of  weary  dissatisfaction  with  her 
present  mode  of  life  had  made  itself  felt  within 
this  young  girl's  bosom,  and  again  and  again  had 
this  resulted  in  impressions  and  resolutions,  which 
had  been  very  real  while  they  lasted. 


252  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

But  they  never  lasted  long ;  perhaps  it  was 
hardly  to  be  expected  that  they  should. 

She  had  no  one  to  whom  they  could  be  con- 
fided, no  one  who  would  have  understood  or 
sympathised  ;  while  at  the  same  time  the  strength 
of  character  which  might  have  enabled  another 
so  situated  to  stand  alone  was  v/anting. 

Gradually  she  had  come  to  perceive  this,  and 
in  downcast  moments,  to  feel  it. 

Why  was  she  so  weak,  so  plastic,  so  terribly 
impulsive?  Those  who  took  her  in  hand  could 
do  just  as  they  liked  with  her.  She  could  not 
wear  a  ribbon  or  a  flower,  if  any  one  abused  it. 

And  though  her  mother  and  uncle  thought  she 
led  the  girls  of  her  set,  she  laughed  secretly  and 
sometimes  bitterly  at  the  idea.  She  lead?  She 
could  not  lead  a  fly. 

To  domineer  over  adoring  parents  and  guardians 
requires  nothing  but  self-will,  and  of  that  my 
heroine  had  abundance — but  she  was  not  so  blind 
to  take  herself  at  their  valuation. 

Indeed  it  annoyed  her,  when  in  a  mood  to  be 
annoyed,  that  her  opinions  and  decisions  should 
be  so  much  esteemed.  She  felt  defrauded  by 
the  very  simplicity  of  her  worshippers ;  by  their 
faith  in  her. 


"DID   HE    SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       253 

But  for  this,  she  might  never  have  been  con- 
tent with  the  low  level  on  which  she  mentally 
placed  herself ;  and  beneath  the  stimulus  of 
criticism  and  rebuke  might  have  fought  her  way- 
upward. 

Who  had  ever  held  a  noble  ideal  before  her 
eyes  ?  Who  had  insisted  on  a  worthier  standard? 
Who  had  shown  the  ingredients  of  life  in  their 
proper  proportions  ? 

Often  she  felt  as  though  she  did  not  know  right 
from  wrong.  A  struggling  sense  of  duty  or  of 
honesty  would  find  the  moral  atmosphere  in 
which  it  sought  to  grow,  so  adverse,  that  it 
dwindled  and  disappeared,  leaving  only  a  vague 
uneasiness  behind. 

Then  she  would  mentally  charge  all  but  herself 
with  the  blight.  If  she  had  been  allowed  to 
follow  her  better  impulse  such  and  such  a  thing 
would  never  have  happened.  If  she  lived  any- 
where but  where  she  did,  among  any  other  people 
than  those  who  daily  surrounded  her,  she  would 
be  a  different  creature. 

After  some  such  ruminations,  poor  Lady  Har- 
borough  would  have  a  trying  time  of  it. 

Mary's  mother  was,  without  reservation, 
honestly  and  whole-heartedly  of  the  earth,  earthy. 


25'i  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

She  had  no  pangs,  no  quahiis.  Her  shallow 
nature  and  untutored  mind  were  content  to 
grovel,  and  anything  but  grovelling  was  incom- 
prehensible. Consequently  Mary's  outbursts  were 
incomprehensible. 

But  directly  Mary  was  happy  again,  all  was 
right  ;  and  by-and-by  Mary  herself  grew  to 
think  that  no  good  came  of  querulous  dissatis- 
faction, and  idle  suppositions,  and  to  stamp  these 
down  whenever  she  felt  them  rising  within  ;  being 
especially  careful,  moreover,  that  no  one  of  her 
acquaintance  should  know  of  or  suspect  their 
existence. 

She  got  along  as  others  did,  and  supposed 
herself  no  worse  than  they.  That  she  should 
occasionally  wish  to  be  better,  was  in  its  way  a 
misfortune.     It  all  ended  in  a  "  Heigho  !  " 

Since  coming  to  Losca,  however,  the  "Heighos" 
had  been  more  frequent.  Not  that  she  met  with 
much  to  make  them  so  in  her  immediate  sur- 
roundings ;  neither  the  elder  people  themselves 
nor  Sophy,  to  whom  she  had  at  first  turned  with 
a  vague  idea  that  an  unfashionable  country  girl 
and  a  clergyman's  daughter  to  boot,  must  be 
meritorious  and  would  probably  be  religious — 
none  of  them  in  any  wise  met  the  case ;  but  there 


"  DID   HE   SAY  IT   WAS   IMPUDENT  ?  "      25 

was  another  who  did.     She  thought  daily,  hourly, 
increasingly  of  Sir  Patrick  :  The  Puddock. 

"  You  are  always  asking  people  about  that 
little  man  ;  "  said  Sophy,  once. 

"  So  I  am.     I  like  to  ask." 

"I  can't  think  what  you  find  interesting  in 
him." 

"Can't  you?" 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  persisted  Sophy, 
"that  you,  knowing  all  the  people  j'ou  do, 
wouldn't  have  cared  to — but  there  you  sat  and  sat 
in  that  poky  hole  " — the  two  had  just  emerged 
from  a  crofter's  hut, — "  and  let  that  old  woman 
go  rambling  on ;  and  it  was  nothing  but  '  Sir 
Patrick  ' — *  Sir  Patrick  '  all  the  time  !  I  thought 
she  would  never  have  done." 

"  I  did  not  want  her  to  have  done.  I  liked  to 
listen." 

"  They  will  say, — do  you  know  what  they  will 
.say  ?  They  are  tremendous  gossips  about  here. 
Uncle  Jo  heard  something  about  you  and  Sir 
Patrick  the  other  day." 

"  Uncle  Jo  is  always  hearing  things." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  mind  ?  "  said  Sophy  surprised. 
"  I  thought  I  would  just  tell  you.  Uncle  Jo  was 
quite  put  out  about  it ;  and  I  came  in  when  he 


256  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

was  telling  aunt  Lou,  so  he  told  me  ;  but  he  said 
I  was  to  hold  my  tongue " 

"Which  you  are  doing,"  sarcastically. 

"Well,  I  never  promised.  And  of  course  he 
doesn't  know  about  your  going  to  the  cottagers, 
and  letting  them  talk  to  you ;  if  he  knew  that,  he 
might  not  have  thought  it  so  impudent." 

"Did  he  say  it  was  impudent?"  The  colour 
rose  in  Mary  Harborough's  cheek.  "  You  are 
sure  he  said  'Impudent'?"  She  pressed  closer 
to  her  companion's  side.  "Impudent!"  Sophy 
heard  her  mutter  to  herself. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  she,  and  a  slight, 
irrepressible  sneer  accompanied  the  words.  "  Sir 
Patrick  is  not  good  enough  for  you,  whatever  he 
may  be  for  other  people." 

"  Yourself,  for  instance.  But  I  told  you  at  the 
first  you  need  not  trouble  your  head  with  that 
idea.     You  seemed  relieved  ;  "  smiling  to  herself. 

"  So  I  was.  I  didn't  want  him.  Nasty  little 
ugly  fellow ■" 

But  the  speaker  broke  off  in  a  shock  of  amaze- 
ment. Mary,  whose  hand  was  within  her  arm, 
pulled  it  out  with  such  a  sudden  vehemence  as  to 
almost  thrust  her  away.  At  the  same  moment  an 
inarticulate  ejaculation  burst  from  her  lips. 


"DID   HE    SAY   IT   WAS   IMPUDENT?"       257 

She  grew  to  dislike,  as  well  as  to  despise  Sophy. 
It  was  clear  that  Sophy  was  both  jealous  and 
mean,  capable  of  wishing  still  to  have  the  credit 
of  an  admirer  whom  she  secretly  flouted,  and 
spitefully  desirous  of  cheapening  him  in  the  eyes 
of  those  who  regarded  him  more  favourably. 

"  She  shall  never  have  a  chance  of  speaking 
like  that  again."  With  compressed  lips,  Sir 
Patrick's  champion  vowed  the  above,  and  only 
hoped  she  would  not  forget  the  vow. 

Then  came  the  Dashleigh  episode,  and  all  that 
had  been  slowly  simmering  before,  on  a  sudden 
boiled. 

Lord  Eobert's  handsome,  shallow  face,  incapable 
of  ever  being  stirred  by  a  noble  emotion,  scarcely 
even  by  a  serious  thought,  was  so  much  wood  in 
Mary  Harborough's  eyes. 

She  wondered  how  she  ever  found  it  attractive, 
or  himself  charming  and  fascinating.  A  foolish, 
worthless  creature. 

And  she?      Was   she   not   just   such    another 
foolish,  worthless  creature.     Ah,  but  she  knew  it, 
and  therein  lay  the  difference- 
She  knew  it  and  clung  to  her  knowledge. 

It  seemed  the  one  thing  clear  to  her  in  the 
struggle  which  now  raged  within. 

18 


CHAPTEK  XI 

A   BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE 

UNCLE  JONATHAN,  I'm  going  to  marry 
The  Puddock." 

Jonathan  who  had  been  slowly  descending  into 
a  big  arm-chair,  shot  upright  again  as  though 
fired  by  electricity. 

It  is  not  the  altogether  unexpected  which  thus 
affects  us ;  it  is  the  oft-debated  possibility  which 
has  been  thrust  aside  again  and  again,  but  has 
ever  recurred  with  quiet  persistency  and  increas- 
ing frequency — the  vague  uneasiness  w^hich  may 
be  scotched  but  will  not  be  killed — the  creeping 
dread  that  must  not  be  spoken  about — the  folly 
at  which  we  laugh,  if  suggested  by  others.  Jona- 
than Mercer  felt  as  if  he  had  been  expecting  this 
moment  for  years. 

"  I  am  ;  "  said  the  girl,  defiantly. 

258 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  259 

The  old  man  sat  down  and  passed  his  hand 
before  his  eyes.  A  curious  sensation  made  his 
veins  tingle.  And  it  was  not  Mary  Harborough, 
his  beautiful  and  idohsed  Mary  who  stood  before 
him,  but  a  hard-featured  Lancashire  woman,  who 
from  earliest  years  had  taken  the  bit  between  her 
teeth,  and  looked  the  world  in  the  face  with  that 
same  defiant  gesture,  and  resolute,  unflinching 
eye. 

So  the  old  strain  was  too  strong  to  be  altogether 
eliminated,  was  it  ?  He  felt  a  kind  of  pride  in  the 
old  strain. 

'Uncle  Jonathan'  too?  Yes.  His  mother 
would  have  said  '  Uncle  Jonathan  '  just  like 
that. 

And  she  had  married  the  man  she  chose  to 
marry,  despite  remonstrances  and  prognosti- 
cations. 

No  one  had  presumed  to  go  further  with  Moll, 
the  bold,  independent  lass,  who  earned  her  own 
living  and  was  beholden  to  nobody. 

Moll's  parents  were  both  alive,  but  neither  they 
nor  she  dreamed  of  such  matters  as  parental 
authority  and  filial  obedience, — which  were  well 
enough  for  gentlefolks,  but  had  no  meaning  for 
the  rough  and  ready  workers  of  a  factory  town. 


260  SIK   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Moll's  freedom,  albeit  she  was  only  sixteen  years 
of  age,  was  absolute. 

The  marriage  had  turned  out  badly ;  one  had 
almost  said,  *  of  course.' 

Jonathan  could  remember  no  father ;  he  had 
absconded,  disgusted  with  family  life,  and  its  ever 
recurring  births  and  deaths  ;  but  the  vision  of  his 
young-old  mother,  worn  out,  harsh-voiced,  and 
more  grimly  determined  than  ever  when  left 
alone  to  '  fend '  for  her  offspring,  was  clear  and 
distinct  after  a  lapse  of  fifty  years,  and  started 
into  being  anew  before  his  eyes. 

He  had  been  wont  to  experience  a  secret  com- 
placency when  reflecting  on  the  apparent  softness 
of  nature  which  had  descended  to  his  niece 
through  a  parent  who  seemed  to  have  none  of 
the  old  virility  of  blood. 

All  his  other  brothers  and  sisters  had  dropped 
into  early  graves,  and  he  had  bestowed  on  the 
solitary  survivor  all  the  affection  of  which  as  a  lad 
he  was  capable. 

Her  submissiveness  and  adaptability  suited  him ; 
her  marriage  pleased  him  ;  the  birth  of  her  little 
girl  ri vetted  her  hold  upon  him. 

He  had  none  of  his  own,  and  Mary  became  all 
in  all  of  her  generation. 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE    BLUE  261 

There  was  but  a  minute  of  silence,  yet  Jonathan 
Mercer  saw  all  this  ere  he  raised  his  head,  and 
pulled  himself  together  for  the  coming  struggle. 

He  would  have  need  of  all  his  wits,  all  his 
diplomacy,  all  his  self-control.  His  voice  was  as 
gentle  as  a  child's. 

"  I — what  did  you  say,  my  dear  ?  You — you 
startled  me,  Mary." 

"Bless  you,  dear  uncle," — a  laugh  that  was  a 
little  forced,  "  I  thought  I  spoke  pretty  plainly," 
continued  Mary,  sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  and  swinging  her  foot  with  assumed  non- 
chalance. "  What  I  said  was,  'I'm  going  to  marry 
The  Puddock.'  The  Puddock,  you  understand? 
Otherwise  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan  of  that  Ilk  ;  tenth 
baronet ;  succeeded  his  father  in  18 — ." 

"  You  need  not  go  on,  my  dear." 

"  You  need  not  speak  to  me  like  that,  my  dear. 
I'm  going  to  marry,  not  to  murder  Sir  Pat." 

"  I  am  a  little  taken  by  sm'prise,  Mary." 

"That's  it,  is  it.  Poor  old  uncle."  She  was 
touched,  and  stroked  his  grey  hair  affectionately. 
"  I  can  understand  that.  I  am  a  little,  not  to  say 
a  good  deal  taken  by  surprise  myself.  Of  all 
people  in  the  world,"  waxing  garrulous  and  com- 
municative now  the  ice  was  broken,  "  I  should 


262  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

have  least  expected  to  have  for  a  husband  that 
dear,  good,  honest,  little  '  Pixddock.'  " 

"You  intend  to  go  on  calling  him  that?" 
Jonathan  looked  at  her  curiousl5^ 

"Yes,  indeed.  Why  not?"  laughed  she.  "I 
rather  like  the  name ;  it  suits  him.  Besides," 
she  paused, — "  you  see,  uncle,  the  very  fact  of 
my  saying  it  draws  the  teeth  of  other  people  who 
say  it  behind  Ids  back,  and  would  like  to  say  it 
to  my  face.  If  I  had  solemnly  called  him  '  Sir 
Patrick '  to  you  just  now,  you  would  not  have 
believed  I  was  in  earnest." 

He  protested. 

"  You  would  have  thought  to  yourself '  She  does 
not  know  what  she  is  doing ;  she  thinks  of  him 
as  a  fine  Highland  chief ;  a  splendid,  romantic 
figure  in  a  kilt,  with  a  background  of  crag  and 
heather.  But  when  I  say  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  take  '  The  Puddock '  for  better  for 
worse,  you  understand  directly  that  there  is  no 
illusion." 

"  He  is  a  very  good  fellow,  certainly." 

"  He's  a  dear.     We  shall  get  on  capitally." 

"But "    said    her    uncle,    w^ith    a    rueful 

look. 

"  But  ?     Of  course  there's  a  '  but '  "  cried  she, 


A   BOLT   FRO^l   THE   BLUR  263 

gaily.  "What's  a  life  without  a  'but"?  Fire 
away,  uncle  Jo.  I'm  all  prepared  for  '  buts ' ; 
armed  to  the  teeth  against  them." 

"  What  will  your  mother  say  ?  " 

"  Hoo  !  "     Tone  and  look  conveyed  worlds. 

"Well,  but  Mary,"  he  felt  he  must  progress, 
"this  is  all  very  fine;  but  you  must  know,  you 
must  feel  that  we  have  a  right — that  this  is  hardly 
what  we  had  a  claim  to  expect  for  you  in  the  way 
of  matrimony." 

"  Then  you  had  no  business  to  get  me  down 
here ;"  promptly. 

Jonathan  stared  at  her.  Had  Sir  Patrick  been 
an  all-conquering  Adonis,  a  Paladin  of  old,  even 
a  modern  hero  crowned  with  laurels,  the  charge 
might  have  held  good, — but  poor  little  Stumpy  ! 

Did  the  girl  mean  that  she  could  not  see  a  man 
without  falling  in  love  with  him  ?  And  she  had 
the  flower  of  English  youth  at  her  feet  !  Scions 
'of  the  noblest  houses  gaping  after  her ! 

"If  you  had  made  up  your  mind  there  was  to 
be  nothing  between  us,  you  certainly  took  an  odd 
way  of  preventing  it."  Perceiving  he  could  find 
no  ready  answer,  the  youug  lady  pursued  her 
advantage.  "  You  painted  little  Pat's  virtues  in 
bold  relief,  and  gave  me  every  chance  of  seeing  if 


264  SIR    PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

you  had  done  them  justice.    Bobby  was  the  finish- 
ing touch."     And  she  laughed  again. 

"Oh,  his  virtues  are  all  right ; "  said  Jonathan, 
testily. 

"  And  if  I  don't  object  to  his  appearance,  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  any  one  else." 

"  Certainly  appearances  do  not  signify  much — 
although  that  Sophy  creature  —  you'd  hardly 
beheve  it"  with  sudden  animation — "but  she 
turned  up  her  nose  at  Sir  Patrick!  " 

"  She'll  not  do  that  again."  Once  more  it  was 
Moll,  the  Lancashire  factory  girl,  whose  blue  eyes 
sparkled  threateningly. 

"  I  told  the  missus — your  aunt,"  said  Jonathan, 
hastily,  "  that  he  was  a  deal  too  good  for  Sophy ; 
but  she  was  all  for  befriending  the  poor  Gills. 
She  seemed  to  think  the  whole  family  was  to 
hitch  on  to  Sir  Patrick." 

"  So  you  sent  for  me  to  save  him?  " 

He  fidgeted  in  his  chair.  "  I  didn't  want  him 
run  in.  I  thought  it  too  bad.  But  I  only  in- 
tended  '■ 

"  That  he  should  be  taken  with  me — not  I  with 
him?" 

"  That's  about  it,  Mary."  For  the  life  of  him 
he  could  not  but  be  amused  at  her  shrewdness. 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE    BLUE  265 

"  I  thought  it  would  do  him  no  harm  just  to  see 
you,  my  girl.  You  can't  help  it  if  you  are  a  bit 
of  a  contrast.  Your  poor  old  uncle  is  a  fool 
about  you,  I  daresay,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  sight  of  your  bonnic  face  would  quiet  neigh- 
bour Patrick  down  a  bit,  and  prevent  anything 
else." 

"But  why  should  you  suppose  he  would  be 
content  with  being  quieted  down  ?  You  might 
siurelj^  have  been  vain  enough  of  me  to " 

"  So  she  said,  your  aunt.  And  then  of  course 
we  both  saw.  But  anyhow  we  never  thought 
that  you — that  there  would  have  been  anything 
on  your  part." 

"  Well,  there  is ; "  said  Mary,  growing  somewhat 
impatient  of  all  this.  "And  I  don't  think  you 
have  shown  off  so  particularly  well  in  the  busi- 
ness, my  dear,  for  you  to  be  entitled  to  much  say 
in  it  now.  You  wanted  somebody  very  big  for 
me,  and  you  have  only  got  somebody  rather 
small, — but  you'll  play  me  fair  with  him,  won't 
you  ?"  A  shght,  a  very  slight  tremor  of  anxiety 
was  audible  in  the  last  words.  "For  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  my  Puddock  empty  -  handed  ; ' ' 
thought  she,  practically. 

Jonathan,  however,  reached  out  a  rough,  brown 


266  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

paw,  and  fixed  his  eyes  earnestly  on  hers.  "  I'll 
play  you  fair,"  he  said,  firmly  clenching  her  hand 
in  his,  "It's  nowt  of  a  marriage,  nowt  compared 
with  what  it  might  ha'  been — but  maybe  ye've 
chosen  better  than  if  old  Jo  had  chosen  for  ye. 
That  flibberti-gibbert " 

"  Oh,  uncle,"  she  was  half  laughing,  half  crjing, 
as  she  kissed  him  ;  "  that  flibberti-gibbert  and  you 
wouldn't  have  hit  it  off  at  all.  You  don't  know- 
how  sick  you  would  have  got  of  him.  A.nd  he 
would  have  looked  down  on  you,  dear  ;  and  on 
aunt  Lou  ;  and  been  ashamed  of  you.  He  would 
have  tried  to  prevent  your  ever  meeting  the  people 
of  his  world,  or  even  coming  into  contact  with  his 
own  family.  Think  how  horrid  this  would  have 
been  for  me;  for  us  all."  She  thought  for  a 
moment,  and  continued,  '*  They  make  a  fuss 
about  my  mother  now,  and  almost  toady  her, 
because  they  want  this  marriage ;  but  directly 
it  had  taken  place  we  should  have  seen  a  change. 
She  would  never  have  been  one  of  themselves ;  I 
doubt  if  I  should." 

"Good  God!  Mary!" 

"  It's  true  ;  you  see  that  every  day.  They  take 
the  money,  but  they  never  forgive  the  plebeian 
blood ;    and   if   there   are  children — I  know  one 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  267 

house,  uncle  Jo,  where  I  have  heard  the  children, 
yes,  indeed  have,  say  things  which  meant  they 
looked  upon  their  parents  as  inferiors.  Punch 
caricatured  this.  He  made  a  child  say  to  his 
mother,  'Aren't  you  glad  you  married  into  our 
family?  '  Somebody  showed  me  this,  and  I  knew 
what  was  meant.     It  was  a  hint  for  me." 

"I  could  not  have  believed  it,  Mary." 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  as  long  as  I  thought  I  might 
have  to  do  it,  uncle." 

Jonathan  ruminated,  "  Might  have  to  make 
that  kind  of  a  match,  you  mean  ?  " 

She  nodded  assent. 

He  was  silent  again.  "You  would  be  quite 
happy  with  The  Puddock  ?  "  interrogated  he,  softly. 

"  We  should  get  on  first-rate  ;  we  are  the  best 
of  friends  already." 

"  Aye,  aye." 

"  And  no  horrid  sneering  family  !  " 

"  Only  Madam  What's-her-name.    Nigel's  wife." 

"  Oh,  her  !  My  dear,  if  I  couldn't  reduce  her 
to  order  !  And  he — I  mean  Sir  Pat,  but  it  might 
stand  for  Nigel — hates  her  already." 

"  And  you'd  be  richer  than  she,  Mary.  Of 
course  I  should  make  a  handsome  settlement 
upon  you." 


268  SIR    PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"Hey,  what's  here?"  said  Mrs.  Mercer  open- 
ing the  door  in  the  midst  of  the  embrace  which 
followed.  "What's  all  this  about,  you  two?" 
good-humouredly . 

"  Only  a  httle  business  talk  we  were  having  ;  " 
said  Jonathan,  his  eyes  interrogating,  "  Am  I  to 
tell  her  or  not?" 

"  Which  is  not  quite  finished  ; "  appended  Mary, 
hers  intimating  a  negative.  "  You  shall  hear  about 
it  presently,  aunt ;  but  if  you  don't  mind,  I  just 
wanted  my  uncle  to  know  something  about  me ; 
because  he's  my  sort  of  father " 

"And  he's  got  to  know  it;"  said  Jonathan. 
"  Go  away,  wife  ;  "    he  nodded  not  unkindly. 

She  withdrew,  wondering. 

"  It's  settled  then,  I  suppose?  " — the  old  man 
rubbed  his  chin,  and  looked  thoughtfully  in  front 
of  him, — "  and  he  may  speak  as  soon  as  he  likes. 
But,  Mary,"  hesitating. 

"Well?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  won't  have  to — has 
Sir  Patrick  ever  said  anything?"  demanded  he, 
abruptly. 

"Not  exactly,  uncle." 

"  You  are  sure  of  him,  however?  " 

She  smiled. 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  269 

"  I  daresay  ;  and  I  daresay  I  know  why  he  has 
not  come  forward.  '  Miss  Arthur,'  the  stray 
lassie  he  met  cHnging  to  a  fine  lady's  skirts,  and 
with  none  of  her  own  as  one  may  say,  was  one 
person — Mr.  Jonathan  Mercer's  nearest  relation 
and  heiress  is  another.  '  Little  Stmnpy  '  as  I 
call  him,  '  The  Puddock '  as  you  call  him,  is  an 
honourable  gentleman.  I  fancy  he  feels  there  is  a 
barrier.  It  is  not  every  one  who  would  feel  this, 
but  I'll   take  my  oath  Stumpy  does." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so  ;"  said  she,  indifferently. 

"  Why  does  he  not  speak,  then?  " 

She  twiddled  her  fingers. 

"  Do  you  tell  me  he's  in  love  with  you,  miss  ?  " 
A  rising  sharpness  in  his  accents. 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  "  she  met  it  boldly. 

"And  you  don't  think  it's  your  fortune  and 
position  that  keeps  him  back  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  altogether." 

"Then  what  the  devil  is  it?"  cried  Jonathan, 
losing  patience.  "  There's  something  you're 
keeping  back  from  me.  I  have  been  open  with 
you,  and  the  least  I  can  look  for  is  that  you 
should  be  open  with  me.  What  is  it,  I  ask?" 
And  he  thumped  his  hand  upon  his  knee. 

**  Uncle,  I  am  keeping  nothing  back.     I  came 


270  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

to  you  directly  I  knew  myself  how  I  felt  and 
what  I  meant  to  do.     I  told  you  everything " 

"  Why,  so  I  thought,  Mary;  "  more  placably. 

"  But  I  can't  answer  for  another  ;  and  some- 
times I  must  own  Sir  Patrick— he — he — I  don't 
know  what  to  think  about  him."  She  paused. 
"  Before  Lord  Eobert  came,  I  read  him  like 
a  book.  He  was — was  very  much — very  deeply," 
blushing,  "in  love  with  me:  he  scarcely  could 
trust  himself  to  speak  to  me;  and  though  he 
feared  to  come,  he  could  not  keep  away  from 
the  house." 

"Aye,  aye;"  Jonathan  winked  approval. 
"That's  the  real  thing,  the  genuine  article;" 
quoth  he,  with  a  smack  of  the  lips.  "  Felt 
that  way  myself  once.     Forty  years  ago,  Mary." 

"Do  you  remember  that  evening  when  we 
were  singing  in  the  twilight?" 

"  When  you  were  singing — and  the  devil  was 
in  you  that  you  wouldn't  stop.  Poor  Little 
Stumpy — Sir  Patrick,  I  mean — did  not  know 
whether  he  stood  on  his  head  or  his  heels  at 
last." 

"Yet  he  has  never  asked  me  to  sing  again;" 
said  she,  in  a  low  voice.  "And  uncle,  he  keeps 
out  of  my  way  now ;  I  am  sure  he  does.     The 


A   BOLT   FKOM   THE   BLUE  271 

other  day  I  saw  him  on  the  road  far  ahead. 
You  know  how  lonely  that  road  is  ?  If  you  see 
any  one,  that  one  must  see  you — and  he  did  see 
me.  He  could  not  help  it.  But  he  simply 
disappeared.  I  don't  know  where  he  went, 
because  there  was  a  little  hillock  between  us, 
but  he  had  gone  when  I  reached  the  place." 

"  Then,  another  day,"  she  went  on,  with 
rising  spirit,  "  he  was  down  at  the  pier — our 
pier.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  go  down  too — 
I  didn't  see  why  I  should  not — and  he  saw  me 
coming,  and  got  into  one  of  the  keeper's  carts 
and  drove  off.  Just  took  off  his  cap  and  drove 
past." 

"Very  rude  of  him." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  rude.  He  was  so  quick  over 
it  that  if  I  had  not  known  in  my  heart  what 
he  was  about,  I  should  have  supposed — any  one 
would  have  supposed  he  never  saw  me  till  after 
he  had  started." 

"What  was  it  all  for?" 

"That's  what  I  mean  to  discover.  But  I 
could  not  set  about  it  without  telling  you. 
Because  you  see,  he's  not  a  man  to  play  with, 
is  he  ?  And  of  course  I've  had  so  many  of 
them,"   proceeded   the   heiress,  simply,  "  that  I 


272  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

know  exactly  what  they  are  worth.  It  was 
nothing  but  a  try  on  with  some.  They  thought 
they  might  as  well  have  a  try  for  me  as  not. 
One  little  impertinent  boy  in  the  Foreign  Office 
began  telling  me  what  expectations  he  had,  as 
if  I  cared  about  his  wretched  little  expectations ! 
There  is  never  any  pretence,  uncle,  I  assure  you. 
There  is  no  time  for  that.  They  simply  go  for 
me  the  moment  they  are  introduced, — and  they 
are  tumbling  over  each  other  in  their  hurry  to 
be  introduced." 

He  laughed,  not  ill-pleased. 

"Perhaps  I  should  miss  it  if  they  didn't;" 
continued  she,  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  know 
what  it  would  feel  like  to  go  into  a  room  and 
not  be  rushed  at.  Uncle,  how  do  they  all 
know?"  with  a  new  thought. 

"  Instinct,"  said  he,  succinctly.  But  with  him 
'  Instinct '  spelt  '  Lady  Harborough.' 

"It's  just  as  well,  d'ye  see?"  continued  the 
millionaire  after  a  pause.  "  We  don't  want  any 
of  the  common  herd ;  and  we  mean  you  should 
have  the  pick,  your  mother  and  I." 

"So  you ?" 

"Oh,  it  got  about." 

"  But    he,     Sir    Patrick,"    said    Mary,    with 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  273 

kindling  eyes,  "  that's  the  best  of  it,  uncle,  he 
to  be  the  one  man  who  knew  nothing,  and  yet 
— still,  I  thnik  if  even  he  had  rushed  it,  he 
might,"  she  stopped  to  think  "he  might  have 
gone  the  way  of  all  flesh ;  "  she  laughed  a  little. 
"But  he  has  left  me  alone,  and  now  he  is  to 
have  his  reward.  Don't  you  think  he  deserves 
a  reward  ?  ' ' 

"  I'm  content,  Mary." 
The  two  shook  hands. 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  your  mother,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Mercer,  later  on  the  same  day.  "  She 
wants  you  back,  she  says." 

"  She  can't  have  me,  aunt."  Mary,  who  had 
also  a  letter  in  her  hand,  folded  it  decisively,  and 
put  it  back  into  the  envelope. 

"  It's  some  ball  she  wants  you  for ; "  hinted  the 
older  lady,  smiling.     "  She  seems   to  think  you 

agreed  before  you  came " 

■  "The  stupid  Milborough   Ball.     I  thought  it 
was  over;  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it." 

("Forgotten  about  a  ball!"  thought  Sophy 
Gill,  "Oh!") 

"  Mary  gets  enough  of  balls  and  such  trash  ;  " 
said  Jonathan,  coming  to  the  rescue.    "  Wliat's 
a  ball  to  her?" — his  glance  conveying  intimate 
19 


274  SIE    PATEICK:    THE    PUDPOCK 

acquaintance  with  poor  Sophy's  thoughts.  "You 
must  just  write  and  say  we  can't  spare  her;  "  he 
added,  to  his  wife. 

"  I'm  sure  if  she's  willing  to  stay," — but  Mrs. 
Mercer  looked  surprised. 

"  That's  the  queer  thing,  she's  not  only  willing, 
but  means  to  do  it ;  "  chuckled  her  spokesman. 
"  Means  to  give  up  all  the  grand  company  and 
the  goings  on,  and  potter  on  here  in  this  dull 
house — but  wait  a  bit,  what  about  the  return 
ticket?"  Suddenly  he  bethought  himself  of  a 
forgotten  obstacle.    "  You  took  one?"  to  his  niece. 

"Dear  me,  so  I  did.  Tiresome.  Well,  w^hat's 
to  be  done?  "     She  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  It  won't  do  to  waste  it,"  said  Jonathan,  with 
a  rich  man's  frugality,  "  and  I  daresay  you  never 
thought  of  taking  one  for  longer  than  a  month  ?  " 

"No,  indeed;  I  only  meant  to  stay  three 
weeks." 

"  It's  up  then — let  me  see — when?  " 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Hum  !  "  said  Jonathan. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  dinner  table,  he  called 
his  wife  back.  "Let  the  other  girl  have  that 
ticket.  She's  not  wanted  here;  and  to  make  up, 
we  can  have  her  at  the  Hall  for  Christmas,  eh  ? 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  275 

I  fancy  she'll  be  glad  enough  to  go.  She  and 
Mary  don't  seem  very  chummy,  and  we'll  be  best 
by  ourselves,"  significantly,  "just  now." 

"  What  is  it  about  Mary,  Jonathan?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  Sophy's  gone,  old  lady." 

Truth  to  tell,  Sophy  was  ready  enough  to  go. 
Luxury  had  begun  to  pall,  and  life  in  the  little 
racketty,  lively,  hugger-mugger  home,  was  felt  to 
have  attractions  never  experienced  before. 

There  at  least,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  house 
was  somebody,  and  would  be  doubly  somebody 
after  her  stay  at  Losca  Castle. 

She  foresaw  herself  the  retailer  of  endless 
narrations,  the  authority  on  endless  debatable 
points. 

Visitors  would  come  to  see  her.  She  would 
scan  them  and  their  clothes,  as  Mrs.  Kinellan 
had  scanned  the  Mercer  party. 

She  would  walk  about  in  her  new  coat  and 
skirt.  She  would  walk  with  a  stick,  "  as  she  did 
in  the  Highlands."  She  would  wear  a  bunch  of 
heather  in  her  button  hole. 

Her  own  particular  friend  should  hear  all  about 
Mary  Harborough,  and  how  swagger  and  smart 
she  was, — also,  in  direst  privacy,  how  odious  and 
conceited. 


276  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

When  imagination  flew  to  Sir  Patrick,  however, 
he  was  found  to  be  a  more  complicated  subject. 
Suppose  he  should  end  by  marrying  Miss  Har- 
borough,  it  might  be  awkward  to  have  claimed 
him  as  a  rejected  admirer.  No  one  in  that  event 
would  admit  the  claim  ;  not  even  her  faithful 
Florrie  May.  She  must  hold  The  Puddock 
over. 

Enough  was  left,  nevertheless,  to  make  a  brave 
show  ;  and  it  only  needed  a  kind  assurance  from 
a  somewhat  compunctious  hostess  respecting 
Christmas  festivities,  to  send  the  young  traveller 
off  in  good  case,  waving  her  hand  to  the  last. 

"And  now  we  are  free  for  our  campaign;" 
whispered  a  gleeful  voice  in  uncle  Jo's  ear. 

During  the  two  intervening  days,  stagna- 
tion had  prevailed,  prudence  suggesting  such 
a  course  ;  and  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen 
of  their  neighbour  over  the  way.  But  now  ? 
"  Suppose  we  drive  round  by  Kinellan  this 
afternoon,"  suggested  our  bold  young  lady. 

"  And  ask  him  to  dinner  ?  "  said  Jonathan. 

"We  might.  What  do  you  think?  But  that 
would  mean  our  going  to  the  house?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  we  may  meet  him." 

"If  we  do,   we  can   invite   him;    if   not" — a 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  277 

pause.  *'  No,  I  think  we  can  hardly  go  to  the 
house  ;  "  said  Mary. 

She  made  herself  look  very  smart  and  pretty 
however,  with  a  soft,  grey  hat  and  a  rose-coloured 
tie — thinking  as  she  tucked  the  latter  in  that  the 
Kinellan  tartan,  albeit  in  itself  not  particularly 
to  her  taste,  would  be  becoming  enough  in  a 
small  pattern.  Sir  Patrick  wore  too  large  a 
pattern — for  a  lady  at  all  events.  He  had  said, 
however,  that  tartans  could  be  woven  to  order, 
and  had  named  a  firm  he  employed.  "  I  would 
wear  it  in  all  sorts  of  ways;"  considered  our 
English  girl,  who  could  not  prospectively  be 
Highland  enough.  "  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
not  have  a  tartan  made  on  purpose  for  me;" 
further  ruminated  she. 

"Attired  for  conquest?  " — whispered  uncle  Jona- 
than, as  she  came  down.  He  thought  he  had 
never  seen  anything  so  transcendent,  and  there 
was  something  almost  pathetic  in  the  pride  and 
triumph  in  his  eyes. 

To  think  that  this  superb  creature  was  actually 

going  to  take  for  a  prince-consort  on  her  throne, 

a    homely,   worthy   nobody !     That    she    should 

allow  her  regal  orbs  to  regard  such  an  one  with 

avour,  and  reach  out  her  sceptred  hand  ! 


278  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

Well,  well ! 

At  any  rate,  she  would  be  *  My  lady,'  and  if 
she  chose,  might  pile  up  such  a  mass  of  masonry 
on  and  round  Kinellan  house,  that  the  present 
structure  would  be  a  mere  kernel  in  its  shell. 

He  supposed  they  would  not  care  for  a  new 
Kinellan  ? 

A  hint  of  the  kind  had  once  caused  Little 
Stumpy's  eyes  to  dart  fire,  and  even  Mary  had 
waxed  enthusiastic  over  the  walls  which  had  with- 
stood the  blasts  of  centuries.  He  told  himself 
that  he  would  not  interfere. 

He  would  interfere  with  nothing.  His  niece's 
plain-speaking  as  to  the  position  he  would  in  all 
probability  have  held  in  Lord  Eobert  Dashleigh's 
family — or  in  any  other  family  in  like  sort 
entered  by  her  —  had  cut  him  to  the  quick, 
and  he  had  thought  over  it  waking  and  sleeping 
ever  since.  Lord !  What  an  escape  he  had 
had! 

And  what  a  sensible  girl  Mary  was.  She  had 
looked  well  round  before  deciding,  and  had 
argued  the  case  in  all  its  bearings.  There  never 
was  such  a  girl.  "  Up  Jenkyns,"  cried  he,  as  she 
sprang  to  his  side.  He  was  in  such  spirits  he  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  himself. 


A  BOLT  FROM  THE  BLUE  279 

But  the  expedition  was  a  failure  iu  so  far  as 
any  immediate  effect  was  concerned. 

The  mail  phaeton  with  its  handsome  pair  of 
cobs  scoured  the  road  round  Kinellan  Bay  from 
point  to  point;  crawled  to  let  its  occupants  admire 
the  view  at  divers  points ;  and  finally  on  its 
return  journey  stopped  point  blank  in  front  of 
the  lodge  gates,  which  had  never  been  entirely 
out  of  sight. 

''Couldn't  ye — ah — make  an  excuse?"  hinted 
the  driver,  flicking  his  whip. 

"Oh,  I'll  get  down  and  see  old  Katie;"  and 
Mary  was  down  in  a  moment.  "  We  want  some 
eggs,  or  something;"  laughed  she  up,  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  cottage. 

She  came  out  again,  walking  rather  slowly,  the 
old  woman  hobbling  after  her. 

As  soon  as  she  had  re-ascended  to  her  seat,  and 
they  were  again  on  the  move,  "  Sir  Patrick  is  in 
■  that  boat,"  murmured  she,  eyeing  a  small  smack, 
which  lay  idly  on  the  water,  the  day  being  fine 
and  still ;  "he  went  there  an  hour  ago — just 
when  we  must  have  passed." 

"  Can  he  have  seen  us?  " 

"  He  can  hardly  have  helped  seeing  us." 

"  Poor  fellow  ;  "  said  Jonathan,  heartily.     The 


280  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

following  day  he  called  himself  on  the  bashful 
lover. 

Sir  Patrick  was  caught,  and  was  all  that  was 
pleasant,  easy,  and  friendly.  Unfortunately  he 
had  business  which  took  him  to  the  mainland 
that  week.  He  would  do  himself  the  honour  of 
calling  on  the  ladies  as  soon  as  he  returned.  The 
day  of  his  return  was  uncertain. 

"He's  still  jockeying  us;"  quoth  Jonathan, 
with  a  chuckle. 

There  were  no  more  drives  to  the  other  side  of 
the  island,  but  Miss  Harborough  now  found 
abundance  to  amuse  her  along  their  own  shore, 
and  especially  at  such  times  as  the  daily  steam- 
boat from  the  south  came  in. 

She  was  always  bright  and  talkative  on  re- 
entering, and  had  plenty  to  say  about  her  call  at 
the  post-office  and  the  shop,  or  her  most  amusing 
waits  upon  the  pier. 

"It  is  such  fun  to  see  the  boat  come  in  ;  "  said 
she.  But  one  day  while  she  was  down  seeing  the 
fun,  Sir  Patrick  was  calling  at  the  castle. 

And  no  one  was  at  home  and  he  was  sent  away. 
The  young  lady's  face  was  a  sight  to  see,  when 
told  this. 

How  had  he  eluded  her  ?     How  and  when  had 


A   BOLT   FROM   THE   BLUE  281 

he  come  back?  There  was  no  boat  in  the 
night. 

Sir  Patrick  had  crossed  at  the  Grass  Point,  by 
a  ferry-boat. 

Not  that  he  knew  anything  or  suspected  any- 
thing :  it  was  only  chance  encounters  he  was 
guarding  against.  And  every  day  he  hoped  to 
hear  that  Mr.  Mercer's  niece  had  left  the  island. 


CHAPTEE     XII 

CONCLUSION 

WHY  did  she  not  go '? 
Why  did  they  all  not  go  ?  The  West  Coast 
of  Scotland  was  no  longer  the  place  for  such  as 
they ;  especially  now  that  the  calm,  blue,  frosty 
days  of  October  were  past,  and  wild  weather  had 
set  in. 

Every  afternoon  closed  with  an  angry,  threat- 
ening sunset,  which  lit  up  the  whole  sky  with  its 
flare. 

Then  a  night  of  wind  would  follow,  and  the 
morning  show  strewn  branches,  tossed  up  shingle, 
scattered  peat-stacks, — while  the  boats  drawn  up 
for  safety  out  of  the  tide's  reach  had  a  forlorn, 
uncanny  air,  intimating  rough  play  in  the  weird 
hours  of  darkness. 

Once  a  terrific  storm  shook  the  coasts.  It  was 
unexpected,  having  been  preceded  by  a  lull,  and 

282 


CONCLUSION  283 

there  was  anxiety  and  foreboding  in  many  a 
home. 

The  boats  kept  retm'ning — some  of  them 
bottom   uppermost. 

Sir  Patrick  scarcely  left  the  shore,  lending  his 
strong  arm  wherever  it  was  wanted,  affording  the 
consolation  of  his  presence  when  nothing  else 
could  be  done. 

AVhilst  the  storm  prevailed  he  did  not  think  so 
much  of  Mary.  That  is  to  say,  he  could  manage 
to  keep  off  conscious,  consecutive  thoughts  of 
Mar}^  She  was  always  there  ;  he  heard  her  voice 
through  the  wild  music  of  the  wind  and  sea,  saw 
her  image  in  the  fitful  sunlight — but  he  did  not 
muse  and  ponder  over  her. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind,  his  steady,  resolute 
mind  ;  and  active  occupation,  and  much  thinking 
for  others  helped  him.  In  time  he  hoped  that  all 
would  be  well. 

'  But  whilst  she  still  lingered  in  the  immediate 
vicinity,  it  was  a  harder  matter  to  be  firm  than  it 
would  be  once  the  entire  episode  were  at  an  end. 

He  could  not  always  shut  his  ears,  and  Miss 
Harborough's  name  was  for  ever  coming  up 
unexpectedly.  His  simple  people  fancied  that  it 
pleased  him  to  hear  of  the  young  EngHsh  lady's 


284  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

beauty  and  goodness.  She  had  been  over  to 
see  one  and  another,  bearing  a  full  purse,  and 
bestowing  her  uncle's  donations  with  much  kind- 
liness and  good  will.  Had  Sir  Patrick  not  met 
the  bonnie  creature?  More  than  once  she  had 
just  gone,  when  he  arrived  upon  the  scene. 

Sir  Patrick  heard  in  silence. 

His  present  exertions  and  the  necessity  for 
confining  their  sphere  to  his  own  part  of  the 
island  where  distress  was  the  greatest,  served  as 
an  excuse  for  any  seeming  neglect  of  neighbour- 
liness ;  and  though,  had  he  chosen,  he  could  have 
associated  various  acts  of  benevolence  with  the 
same  on  Mr.  Mercer's  part,  there  was  no  positive 
obligation  to  do  so. 

"We'll  run  him  to  earth  yet,  however;" 
thought  Jonathan. 

He  began  to  grow  impatient  of  the  dead-lock. 
No  one  might  be  aware  of  it  beyond  himself  and 
his  niece,  but  he  felt  it  to  be  exasperating  all  the 
same.  He  was  not  used  to  being  thwarted  ;  and 
though  at  first  disposed  to  find  the  situation 
exciting  and  stimulating  from  its  very  novelty, 
as  time  passed  he  began  to  take  counsel  with 
himself. 

Mary  had  been  very  frank  with  him,  and  so  far 


CONCLUSION  285 

he  had  returned  the  frankness;  nevertheless, 
there  were  hmits  beyond  which  no  girl  could  go, 
yet  which  did  not  bind  an  old  man,  a  near  rela- 
tion, an  arbiter  of  fate. 

It  ended  in  this ;  by  hook  or  by  crook,  he  would 
see  the  elusive  and  impassive  Sir  Patrick,  and 
force  his  hand. 

Fortune  favoured  him ;  the  two  met  point- 
blank  that  very  afternoon. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  how  d'ye  do?  "  cried  Jonathan, 
cordially.  "Glad  to  see  you  at  last;"  planting 
himself  firmly  in  the  other's  path.  "I  thought 
we  had  lost  sight  of  each  other  altogether.  You 
never  come  our  way  now."  He  had  thought 
over  this  opening  sentence  a  score  of  times. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  have  been  well  occupied  over 
here ;"  continued  the  old  gentleman,  in  answer  to 
a  muttered  explanation,  "  we  all  know  that.  The 
whole  country-side  rings  with  your  praises.  But 
■ — let  me  walk  back  with  you,"  linking  his  hand 
in  Sir  Patrick's  arm ;  "  since  you  won't  come  to  us, 
let  me  come  to  you.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  on 
my  way  to  hunt  you  out;"  proceeded  he,  con- 
fidentially. "  Sir  Patrick,  I'm  a  plain  man,  and 
I  don't  understand  any  but  plain  dealings,  ^^'ill 
you  excuse  a  straight-forward  question  ?    Have  I 


286  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

or  mine,  offended  you'?"  A  pause.  "That  is 
the  upshot  of  this  call,"  continued  Mr.  Mercer, 
very  well  pleased  to  have  got  so  far,  and  to  see 
that  no  way  of  escape  was  possible  for  his  pri- 
soner. "  There  are  three  of  us  over  there — only 
three  now,  my  wife,  my  niece,  and  myself — and 
we  are  «7r '^emphatically — "your  very  good 
friends.  But  of  late  you  have  hardly  seemed  to 
care  to  be  friends  with  us.  Of  course  if  I  am 
wrong,  you  have  only  to  tell  me  so  ;  "  hastily. 

"You  are  certainly — wrong," — but  there  was  a 
hesitation  before  the  last  word  which  left  it 
doubtful  whether  another  might  not  have  been 
with  more  truth  substituted. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it — glad  to  hear  it;"  re- 
sponded Jonathan  effusively.  "  One  can't  always 
tell,  you  know.  And  Mary — young  ladies  are 
sensitive  creatures," 

"Did— did  she ?" 

"  Oh,  aye,  she  did.  Yes,  I  assure  you  she  did. 
She  has  quite  worried  herself  over  it ;  though  of 
course  I  ought  not  to  let  that  out.  I  should 
catch  it  hot  if  she  knew.  She's  a  poor  fatherless 
girl,  Sir  Patrick  " — (I'll  try  him  with  sentiment,) — 
"  and  has  no  one  to  go  to  when  she's  in  trouble  : " 
— (He'll   say  her  mother,   but   that's  nonsense. 


CONCLUSION  287 

Besides,  she  can't  get  at  her  mother  here)—"  so 
as  I  stand  m  loco  parentis — Mary's  all  the  same 
as  my  own  to  me ;— I— I— confound  it  all,  Sir 
Patrick,  you  must  see,  you  must  know,  what  I'm 
driving  at.  Is  there  any  quarrel  between  you 
and  my  niece?  " 

"No." 

"  Do  you  feel  the  same  towards  her  as  you  did 
— say  a  month  ago  ?  " 

The  muscles  of  Sir  Patrick's  face  grew  set  and 
rigid. 

"  No;  "  he  said  again.  Then  suddenly  with  a 
deep  gasp  for  breath,  the  sweat  standing  on  his 
brow,  "My  God,  no !  " 

By  common  consent  the  two  had  slipped 
asunder,  and  now  stood  apart,  each  breathing 
fast,  on  the  verge  as  they  alike  realised,  of  a 
precipice.  Sir  Patrick's  fingers  clutched  and 
unclutched  the  dirk  by  his  side. 
•  "You  ask  me  if  I  feel  as  I  once  did?"  exclaimed 
he  hoarsely.  "  You  ask  me  that  ?  Oh,  if  I  did — if 
I  could  !  That  was  nothing — comparatively  ;  I 
admired  Miss  Harborough,  she  seemed  to  me  all 
that  was  lovely  and  lovable, — but  I  was  content 
humbly  to  pay  my  homage  where  all  bowed 
down, " 


288  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"Why  'content,'  man?  Why  'content'? 
Miss  Harborough  is  but  a  woman  after  all." 
("Golly!  he's  all  right,"  cried  Jonathan,  inwardly 
transported,)  "  You  are  too  modest,  my  good  sir. 
A  bold  wooer " 

"  But  I  am  no  wooer." 

"  You  would  only  like  to  be  one?  " — slily. 

A  spasm  passed  over  Sir  Patrick's  brow.  He 
raised  his  hand  and  pressed  it,  dumb. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Jonathan,  patiently. 

"  Mr.  Mercer,  you  have  been  so  plain  with  me 
that  I — that  nothing  remains  for  me  than  to  be 
equally  so  with  you." 

"  Quite  right ;  quite  right." 

"  I  love  your  niece  ;  I  have  never  loved  any 
other  woman ;  but — I  will  not  ask  her  to  be  my 
wife." 

Jonathan  started. 

"  I  will  not  take  advantage  of  her  impulsive 
youth,  her  amiability,  her  ignorance  of  life.  She 
has  shown  me,  innocently  and  in  all  unconscious- 
ness, what  she  expects  of  this  world,  what  she 
cares  for  in  it,  and  what  she  means  to  make 
of  it.  Just  for  a  moment,  a  passing  moment, 
she  has  imagined  that  a  poor,  rough,  homely 
fellow    like    me  —  I     can     scarcely    say    it,    it 


CONCLUSION  289 

seems  so  strangely  presumptuous — could  make 
her  happy."  He  stopped  short,  and  turned  his 
head  aside.  Then  shook  it  slowly.  .  .  .  "It 
is  a .  mere  illusion."  Another  pause.  ...  "I 
bless  her  for  it, — but  I  will  not  be  blinded  by 
it.  .  .  .  She  is  dreaming,  and  were  I  to  fulfil 
her  dream,  she  would  wake  presently  as  from 
a  night-mare.  .  .  .  We  are  two  different  creatures. 
Were  I  to  strive  day  and  night  to  make  her 
happy,  I  could  not  do  so.  .  .  .  You,  sir,  you  must 
knoiv  I  am  speaking  the  truth.  What  have  we 
in. common?     Not  a  thought  or  purpose, " 

"  That  would  come.  Husbands  and  wives 
grow  together." 

"Do  they?"  Sir  Patrick's  lips  compressed. 
"  No,"  he  said,  slowly  and  bitterly ;  "  I  know 
the  end  of  such  marriages." 

"You  are  thinking  of  your  brother?  I  grant 
you  his  is  not  a  case  in  point.  But  you  would 
not  compare  Mrs.  Kinellan — excuse  my  saying 
it — to  my  niece?  " 

"  God  forbid  I  should.  My  poor  brother — but 
we  need  not  revert  to  him.  Mr.  Mercer,  I  had  a 
friend,  a  dear  friend,  who  wrote  to  me  not  long 
ago  of  his  engagement  in  a  strain  of  rapture.  He 
is  a  serious-minded  man  like  myself,  and  I  was 
20 


290  SIK   PATEICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

surprised  to  find  that  he  had  been  accepted  by  a 
lady  who  was  a  leader  of  the  fashionable  world. 
She  had  taken  him  for  a  whim  ;  and  when  the 
whim  passed,  she  cast  him  off ;  fortunately  before 
the  knot  was  tied.  She  had  mistaken  her  feelings, 
she  said.  That  was  all ;  there  was  nothing  more 
to  be  said." 

Again  he  looked  into  the  distance,  blindly. 

"You  cannot  think — you  cannot  mean,"  said 
Jonathan  struggling  with  a  sense  of  affront, 
"  that  Mary — my  niece.  Miss  Harborough," 
correcting  himself  "  would  play  any  one  such 
a  shabby  trick?  If  she  gave  her  word,  she'd 
stick  to  it — as  I  should,"  the  sturdy  Lancashire 
blood  warming  as  he  spoke. 

"But  at  what  a  cost,"  said  Sir  Patrick,  sadly. 
"Disappointment,  discontent,  repinings  —  there 
is  no  safety  in  a  man's  home,  once  these  fiends 
creep  in ;  and  they  point  the  way  to — ruin." 

"Good  heavens,  sir  !  You — you! — Upon  my 
word,  sir !  Well,  I  have  done  what  I  could  ; 
humbled  myself,  and  got  kicked  for  my  pains. 
You  might  have  said  at  the  first  you  did  not 
care  for  the  young  lady " 

"I  worship  the  very  ground  she  treads  upon." 

"  Queer  kind  of  worship !  " — but  there  was  a 


CONCLUSION  291 

relenting  gleam.  "  However,  is  this  your  last 
word?" 

Sir  Patrick  bowed  his  head. 

"  Of  course  it  goes  no  further?  "  shortly. 

"You  can  trust  me,  sir." 

"  It  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  ^knew  ;  "  burst 
forth  Jonathan,  irrepressibly,  "  and  I'm  not 
above  owning  I  can  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of 
it.  However,  that's  your  look  out.  My  niece 
with  nigh  upon  a  million  at  her  back  " — (for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  resist  this) — "  need  never 
go  a-begging.  She  has  plenty  to  pick  and  choose 
from,  I  can  tell  you; "  snorting  in  wrathful  dignity. 

"  I  know  it.     You  forget  that  I  have  seen " 

"  Oh,  not  him,"  said  Jonathan,  hastily. 

"  Perhaps  not  him,  but  such  as  he.  He  is  of 
her  world.  She  loves  her  world  and  shines  in  it ; 
while  I "  he  paused,  and  his  voice  sank  till  the 
conclusion  of  the  sentence  was  almost  inaudible 
— "  I  am  a  follower  of  One  who  said  *  If  any 
man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father  is 
not  in  him.'  " 

"  The  truth  is,  you're  not  religious  enough," 
said  uncle  Jo,  briefly.  He  had  not  meant  to 
reveal   a  syllable  of    what   had   passed   between 


292  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

him  and  Sir  Patrick,  yet  almost  every  syllable 
had  been  wrung  from  him. 

"  You  may  go  to  the  devil  in  your  own  vyay, 
Stumpy  thinks.  He  won't  have  you  on  his 
conscience,  at  any  rate.  Once  or  twice  I  had 
an  idea  there  was  something  of  this  sort  in  the 
wind,  from  the  look  on  his  face  yon  Sacrament 
Sunday,  do  you  remember  ?  It  was  before  all 
this  was  set  agoing.  You  said  to  me — or  I  to 
you — that  he  had  a  kind  of  holy  look.  And  I'm 
blessed  if  I  didn't  think  it  rather  fine  of  him  to 
be  sitting  there  among  all  his  people,  so  solemn 
and  smart  as  if  for  a  great  occasion.  I  felt 
almost  ashamed  when  we  all  sneaked  out  of 
the  kirk  before  the  Bread  and  Wine  went  round. 
He  laid  that  up  in  his  mind  against  us,  too,  I 
don't  doubt ;  we're  not  his  sort,  Mary ;  you'd 
need  belong  to  the  '  ower  guid '  my  lass,  before 
ye  could  mate  with  the  godly  Puddock." 

"  For  shame! "  cried  she,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Anyhow  he's  dead  set  against  you,  and  you 
must  look  elsewhere  for  a  husband." 

"  Must  I,  indeed '?  "  quoth  she,  to  herself. 

He  was  ten  times  more  to  her  than  he  had  ever 
been  before. 

To  think  that  he  should  be  so  stern,  so  stead- 


CONCLUSION  298 

fast  !  Loving-  her  as  he  did,  and  owned  to  doing, 
was  it  not  grand  to  have  such  power  of  renuncia- 
tion, such  contempt  for  self-torture  ? 

What  were  the  words  he  had  used  ? 

"  I  worship  the  verj^  ground  she  treads  upon." 
She  had  made  her  uncle  repeat  them  twice. 

And  he  had  flushed  and  trembled  as  he  spoke  ? 
"  There  was  no  mistaking  that  the  poor  fanatic 
was  in  earnest,"  Jonathan  had  assured  her  ; 
"  mad  he  might  be,  but  there  was  no  humbug 
in  his  madness."  His  voice  shook  at  your  very 
name  ;  "  said  the  old  man  ;  "  it  seemed  sometimes 
as  if  he  could  hardly  get  it  out.  But  he  takes  it 
for  granted  that  you  are  a  w-eather-cock,  a  mere 
flimsy  fashion-plate." 

"  I  am  not- — I  am  not ;  "  cried  she,  passionately. 

"  You  do  talk  like  it,  Mary." 

"  Because  I  know  no  other  talk." 

"All  that  slang, " 

"  I  know%  I  hate  it.  It's  vulgar — not  what  ijou 
would  call  vulgar,  because  the  smartest  people — 
it's  at  their  houses  you  hear  the  most.  But  when 
I'm  away  from  our  set,  I  do  notice  that  it  doesn't 
sound  right.  Oh,  it  has  been  my  own  fault,  my 
own  fault ;  "  sighed  she,  seeing  no  comfort  was  to 
be  got  from  him. 


294  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  One  thing  I  must  do  Stumpy  the  justice  to 
say,"  bhirted  out  Jonathan,  presently.  "  He 
never  gave  your  money-bags  a  thought." 

"  I  told  you  so." 

''Well,  but  I  had  my  own  ideas;  stop  a  bit, 
you  don't  understand.  I  had  it  in  my  head  that 
they  held  him  back — not  that  they  drew  him  on. 
If  I  had  not  thought  that  I  should  never  have 
gone  the  length  I  did.  Apparently  they  were  of 
no  weight  either  way !  I  wish  now  I  had  let 
well  alone." 

She  wished  so  too. 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  over;  "  she  said,  quietly. 
"And  the  only  thing  I  can  do  now  is  to  try  not 
to  regret  ever  having  known  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan. 
Certainly  he  has  done  for  me  what  no  one  else 
ever  tried  to  do — he  has  shown  me  myself.  It 
has  been  a  little  hard  to  bear.  Perhaps  he  has 
been  a  little  cruel,  a  little  harsh  in  his  judgments  ; 
but  how  could  he  be  expected  to  know  better  ? 
He  could  only  judge  by  what  he  saw.  And  he 
has  never  seen  the  real  Mary.  But  after  all, 
uncle,"  she  wiped  away  a  few  tears,  "the  picture, 
if  not  a  perfect  likeness,  was  near  enough  the 
truth  to  hurt.  I  have  lived  a  life  of  pleasure.  I 
have  swung  with  the  tide,  and  let  it  carry  me 


CONCLUSION  295 

wherever  it  would.  Sir  Patrick's  idea  of  nie  is  a 
true  one,  except,"  she  paused,  "except  that  he 
does  not  know  all.  He  does  not  know  what 
might  have  made  him  a  httle  less — hard.  Uncle, 
I  have  often  had  bad  moments — moments  when 
it  all  seemed  unutterably  mean  and  poor,  and 
myself  nothing  but  a  worthless,  useless  creature. 
Only  these  never  lasted.  Shall  I  tell  3''ou  why '? 
It  is  because  I  am  so  very  weak,  dear  uncle." 
She  took  his  hand  and  stroked  it  fondly.  "You 
think  far  too  highly  of  your  poor  Mary.  You  say 
to  yourself  '  This  is  a  fine  girl.  She  knows  what 
she  is  about.  She  leads  us  all.'  And  you  and 
my  mother  are  so  kind  and  good,  you  let  your- 
selves be  led,  and  you  give  in  to  me,  and  spoil 
me,  as  all  the  rest  do." 

"I  daresay,  I  daresay."  (Who  wouldn't? 
thought  he  to  himself.) 

"  But  what  I  want  is  some  one  who  would  )iof 
give  in.  Who  would  see  my  faults  and  help  to 
cure  me  of  them,  and  yet — love  me.  Some  one 
whom  I  should  have  to  obey — you  don't  think 
so?"  quickly,  for  she  had  caught  an  almost  im- 
perceptible shake  of  the  head.  "Oh,  but  you 
don't  know  me  either,  uncle ;  you  don't  know 
the  real  Mary  ;  indeed,  indeed  you  do  not.     If  I 


296  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

could  respect  and  love  a  man,  I  would  surrender 
my  will — I  should  be  glad  to  do  it,  proud  to  do 
it.  Of  course  it  would  have  to  be  some  one 
strong  enough " — again  she  paused,  and  hesi- 
tated. "  I  thought  I  had  found  such  an  one," 
she  smiled  a  little  bitterly,  "  but  it  appears  I  am 
mistaken." 

"Don't  hanker  after  him,  Mary.  Don't,  I 
can't  bear  it."  She  his  pride,  his  darling,  to 
have  been  thwarted,  slighted,  rejected  by  a 
Puddock  !  He  said  the  words  aloud  in  his  angry 
heart.  His  features  twitched  as  he  looked  at  her 
now. 

She  returned  the  look  calmly.  "  It  is  all  right, 
dear  uncle.     Old  maids  are  often  the  happiest." 

"  Fiddlesticks — old  maids  !  "  He  fumed  and 
muttered  incoherently  ;  then  raised  his  head  to 
exclaim  : — "  What  I  can't  get  over  is,  that  after 
you — you  who  might  have  anybody,  had  lowered 
yourself  to  think  yon  could  put  up  with  him " 

"  He  couldn't  put  up  with  me."  The  frag- 
ment of  a  smile  re-appeared.  "  It  does  seem 
comical,  does  it  not?" 

"  It's — it's  incredible." 

She  let  it  pass. 

Later  on  in  the  day,  they  saw  her  looking  out 


CONCLUSION  297 

trains  and  writing  busily.  "  She's  going;  "  they 
told  each  other,  divining  what  this  meant ;  but 
neither  one  nor  the  other  durst  inquire;  and  it 
was  not  till  her  arrangements  were  complete 
that  she  came  in  to  announce  them. 

Her  uncle  and  aunt  were  together,  and  simul- 
taneously experienced  a  thrill  of  curiosity,  not 
unmingled  with  apprehension. 

They  knew  what  she  was  going  to  say  ;  but 
how  would  she  say  it  ? 

She  held  up  her  head  and  spoke  cheerfully. 
"■  I  have  written  for  rooms  at  Oban  for  to- 
morrow night,  uncle  Jo.  It  appears  that  the 
Skye  steamer  will  not  touch  here  till  late  in  the 
afternoon,  or  possibly  the  evening ;  and  you 
cannot  send  me  off  in  the  yacht  because  of  that 
tiresome  boiler.  I  went  down  to  see  Captain 
Binks,  and  he  tells  me  he  cannot  get  it  put  to 
rights  under  a  week." 

"  And  you  can't  wait  a  week  ?  " 

"No,  dear;  "  quietly. 

No  more  was  said  on  either  part,  and  orders 
were  given  and  preparations  made  with  a  certain 
avoidance  of  each  other  by  all  concerned,  which 
seemed  due  to  a  tacit  understanding. 

"  I  only  wish  it  were  not  such  a  wild,  rough 


298  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

day,  however,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer,  as  the  Novem- 
ber morning  broke  with  driving  clouds,  and  a 
heavy  sea  running.  A  blast  struck  the  windows 
as  she  spoke,  followed  by  a  fierce  spatter  of  rain. 
"  You  are  a  good  traveller,  Mary,  I  daresay  ;  and 
luckily  we  have  a  pier,  so  that  you  do  not  need  to 
go  out  into  the  middle  of  the  Sound  in  a  ferry- 
boat, as  they  tell  me  used  to  be  the  way  here, — 
but  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  a  disagreeable 
crossing." 

"Ay,  it  will  be  pitch  and  toss  off  Lismore  I 
doubt  not ;  "  appended  Jonathan,  returning  from  a 
look  out.  "  But  after  all,  in  a  good-sized,  steady- 
going  boat  like  the  Clansman,  you  have  no  need 
to  mind.  You  will  be  better  off  in  her  than  you 
would  have  been  in  the  Bravura;  she  would 
have  tipped  about  a  good  deal  in  weather  like 
this." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  weather;  "  said  Mary. 

She  had  been  up  once  or  twice  in  the  night, 
looking  anxiously  over  the  sea,  in  terror  lest  a 
storm  might  really  be  rising  which  would  of 
necessity  delay  her  departure.  Anything  rather 
than  that,  she  thought. 

For  her  own  part,  she  would  go,  go  if  a  hurri- 
gane  blew  and  waterspouts  were  bursting  round, 


CONCLUSION  -299 

— but  it  would  hardl}^  be  possible  to  maintain 
this  resolution  should  her  uncle  and  aunt  be 
opposed   to   it. 

It  was  therefore  with  relief  that  she  noted  the 
subsidence  of  the  elements  with  the  dawn,  and 
the  mere  prospect  of  a  few  hours'  unpleasantness 
was  nothing. 

To  be  on  the  move,  to  get  away  from  this 
place,  to  be  freed  from  the  necessit}'  of  keeping 
up  appearances  with  those  aware  of  her  humili- 
ation— for  even  her  aunt  had  obviously  now  a 
ghmmering  of  the  truth — that  with  my  ill-starred 
heroine,  was  now  all  in  all. 

She  strove  to  make  her  exit  with  dignity ; 
bustled  hither  and  thither  collecting  her  goods  ; 
and  must  needs  superintend  their  bestowal  in 
trunks  and  dress-baskets — a  thing  she  had  never 
done  before. 

Sarah,  wondering  and  aggrieved,  fretted  too 
by  directions  and  counter-directions,  wished  her 
young  mistress  anywhere  else.  Had  such  super- 
vision ever  been  previously  required  '>  And  was 
it  likely  that  she,  Sarah,  knowing  what  she  had 
brought,  and  that  all  which  came  must  go  back 
again,  could  need  be  told  of  this,  and  reminded 
of  that,  till  she  was  at  her  wits'  end  ? 


800  SIR   PATRICK:    THE    PUDDOCK 

Mary  was  making  of  it  all  an  excuse  for  keep- 
ing as  much  as  possible  within  her  own  rooms. 
If  followed  thither  by  a  solicitous  hostess,  she 
was  still  within  earshot  of  Sarah. 

Now  and  then  the  latter  shuddered  as  the  wind 
moaned  and  whistled  without. 

It  was  indeed  good  news  to  be  going ;  she  was 
glad  from  her  heart  to  be  leaving  this  eerie  spot 
behind ;  but  she  would  thankfully  have  waited 
for  a  better  day  and  a  more  decent  and  leisurely 
departure,  had  she  been  consulted. 

She  was  kept  packing  like  ten  furies,  how- 
ever. 

"  We  may  not  have  to  go  till  night,  but  we 
must  be  ready  by  four  o'clock;  "  said  Miss  Har- 
borough,  decidedly.  "Indeed,  we  should  really 
be  ready  sooner,  as  the  luggage  has  to  be  down  at 
the  pier  at  four — or  soon  after.  Don't  mind 
about  that  thing,  Sarah;" —  it  was  her  best 
dinner-dress,  and  she  had  worn  it  one  evening — 
she  hated  to  look  at  it  now. 

"  Get  it  in,  somehow;  "  she  cried,  impatient  of 
the  smooth  foldings,  and  silver-paper  wrappings. 
"And  get  on — do  get  on,"  handing  another  article. 

It  was  of  an  inappropriate  nature,  and  Sarah 
rebelled. 


CONCLUSION  301 

"  This,  then"?"  said  the  young  lady,  holding  out 
a  rough  driving  coat. 

"  You  will  want  that,  miss,  on  the  boat." 

"Well,  this?"  It  was  a  plaid,  also  laid  aside 
for  travelling  use. 

"  If  you  would  leave  it  to  me,  miss ;  "  the  poor 
woman  was  in  despair,  "  you  are  just  tiring  your- 
self out,  miss.  I  can  manage,  if  you  would  go 
downstairs "  she  hinted  at  last. 

The  afternoon  wore  on. 

"  I  am  glad  you  can  have  a  cup  of  tea  com- 
fortably before  you  go,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Mercer  had  with  her  own  hands  piled 
fresh  logs  on  the  great  wood  fire,  striving  thus  to 
counteract  the  gloom  of  the  outer  world,  where 
the  light  was  waning  earlier  than  usual  beneath 
a  heavily  clouded  sky  ;  and  she  assumed  a 
studiously  cheerful  tone  in  thus  addressing  her 
niece,  who  came  down  to  the  drawing-room  fully 
equipped  as  the  clock  struck  four. 

"  There  is  no  hurry,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear ;  " 
proceeded  the  old  lady,  "  Jenkynson  has  just 
come  back  from  the  pier,  and  says  that  the  boat 
is  not  expected  for  an  hour  or  two  yet.  She 
must  be  late  to-day,  they  say  ;  and  more  likely 
than  not  it  will  be  dark  before  she  comes.     In- 


302  SIR  PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

deed  it  is  getting  dark  now.  Mary,  I  suppose," 
hesitating,  "if  it  should  be  very  late,  my  dear, 
and — and  dark — would  you  not  care  to  put 
off " 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear  aunt.  It  is  very  kind  of  you 
to  wish  it,  but  I  never  put  off  things.  Besides 
there  is  really  nothing  to  mind,  you  know.  It  is 
not  even  raining  now." 

Her  aunt  said  no  more,  and  the  two  sat  down.  , 

"  Where  is  uncle  Jo?"  demanded  Mary. 

"  In  his  room.  He  will  see  you  on  board,  of 
course.  But  when  I  asked  if  he  would  not  come 
here  and  sit  with  us  a  little,  he  turned  me  out. 
He  feels  your  going,  my  dear." 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  for  a  minute,  aunt '? 
No,  I  won't  have  any  more,  thank  you."  She 
had  drunk  feverishly,  but  eaten  nothing.  "I 
may  have  to  dine  here,  you  know;  "  with  a  poor 
attempt  at  jocularity;  "you  may  not  have  done 
with  me  yet ;  and  at  any  rate,  if  I  am  hungry  I 
can  get  something  to  eat  on  board  the  boat.     But 

I "  rising    and    nervously  pushing   back    the 

low  seat  on  which  she  had  been  sitting — ' '  I  think 
I  will  go  to  my  uncle.  I  should  like  to — to  see 
him.  I  will  come  back  again;  "  and  she  hurried 
from  the  room. 


CONCLUSION  303 

Her  mind  was  full  of  something  of  which  she 
wished  to  disbm.-den  it  before  starting,  before 
quitting  for  ever  a  painful  and  hateful  subject — 
and  the  opportunity  for  doing  so  was  unexpected. 
She  had  reckoned  on  the  drive  down  to  the  pier. 
It  seemed  now,  however,  as  if  her  full  heart  must 
discharge  itself. 

"  If  you  please,  miss "  it  was  Jenkynson 

in  the  corridor.  Perhaps  with  some  message 
from  the  pier-master,  some  query  about  her 
luggage  ? 

She  anticipated  him.  "It  is  all  gone,  Jenkyn- 
son :  went  about  half-an-hour  ago." 

"  Yes,  miss.  I  passed  the  cart  on  my  way  up, 
and  the  boat  is  not  expected  for  some  time  yet, 
miss.  They  think  she  may  be  some  hours  late. 
It  is  Sir  Patrick  Kinellan  who  has  called  to  see 
you,  miss." 

Sir  Patrick  Kinellan !  She  stood  still,  her 
head  turning  round,  the  calm  matter-of-fact 
words   ringing   in   her   ears. 

"Who — who  did  you  say?"  she  murmured, 
feebly.  Afterwards  she  hoped  he  construed  it 
VTith  *  peevishly,'  as  one  annoyed  at  a  visitor  at 
such  a  moment. 

"  Sir  Patrick   Kinellan,  miss.     I    showed  him 


304  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

into  the  little  room;"  making  way  as  if  for 
her  to  pass  towards  the  indicated  apartment. 

"  But  my  aunt  is  in  the  drawing-room." 

"  Sir  Patrick  asked  for  you,  miss." 

"For  me?  Oh?  To  say  'G-ood-bye,'  I  sup- 
pose ;  "  still  struggling  to  preserve  appearances. 
"  Did  you  tell  Sir  Patrick  I  was  just  leaving, 
Jenkynson  ?     Or — or  did  he  seem  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  said  so,  miss.  But  I  think  he  knew.  He 
said  he  would  not  detain  you.  I  saw  him  on  the 
pier,  too  ;  "  hinted  Jenkynson. 

"  He  would  Isarn  there  that  there  was  time,  of 
course." 

"Yes,  miss." 

And  now,  she  must  go  —  she  must  go.  A 
momentary  respite  had  been  afforded  by  the 
above,  and  time  sufficient  had  been  gained  to 
allow  of  her  entering  in  a  customary  manner,  and 
taking  it  for  granted  that  a  polite  parting  call — 
but  surely  it  was  unnecessary  on  Jenkynson's 
part  to  induct  a  visitor  even  if  he  had  specially 
named  herself  as  the  person  to  whom  the  civility 
was  to  be  paid,  into  a  small  distant  chamber, 
instead  of  straight  into  her  presence?  Did 
Jenkynson ? 

She  must  not  stop  to  think. 


CONCLUSION  306 

Into  the  room  she  stepped  with  a  forced  gesture 
of  easy  welcome. 

He  was  between  her  and  the  hght,  waiting, 
with  his  face  tm:ned  towards  the  door.  In  both 
hands  he  held  his  cap  before  him.  Something  in 
the  attitude  reminded  her  of  a  beggar. 

"  So  kind  to  come  and  wish  me  '  Good-bye  ; '  " 
cried  she,  gaily,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

He  did  not  take  it. 

He  stood  as  he  was,  and  merely  bent  his  head  : 
bent  it  and  kept  it  bowed. 

"  Did  you  not  come  for  that  ? "  she  smiled. 
"  I  am  going,  you  know  ;  going  this  very  minute 
— that  is  the  very  minute  the  Clansman  comes 
in  sight.     You  came  to " 

"  I  came  to  ask  for  this  hand." 

He  looked  towards  it ;  it  fell  by  her  side. 

"  Miss  Harborough,  you  may  well  turn  from 
me" — for  she  had  half  turned  away;  "I  can 
scarcely  hope  that  you  will  have  the  forbearance 
to  hear  me  ;  but  at  least  I  shall  have  said  it,  and 
God  knows  I  mean  it."  He  gazed  at  her  with 
burning  eyes,  his  voice  shook  with  agitation. 

"  Am  I  allowed  to  speak  ?  " 

A  slight  movement ;  he  took  it  for  assent. 

"Your  uncle  may  have  told  you — that  some- 
21 


306  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

thing — passed  between  ns — lately?"  he  mur- 
mured, brokenly.  "  He  had  read  my  heart — as  all 
must  have  done — who  could  help  it  ?  And  in  the 
goodness  of  his,  he  thought  to  make  my  hard  way 

more  easy.     He " 

"  I  know  ;  I  know." 

"  Miss  Harborough,  I  have  led  a  life  of  solitude; 
I  have  had  through  all  life  to  lean  upon  my  own 
arm ;  and  walk  my  own  path.  Can  it  be  won- 
dered at  if  I  sometimes  blunder  ?  The  other  day 
I — blundered.  Call  it  by  no  harsher  name,  I 
implore  you,  it  wrung  my  very  heart  to  bleeding. 

But  I  thought — I  thought " 

"  I  understand." 
"  Can  you  forgive '?  " 
"  I  don't  know." 

Suddenly  she  burst  out.  "  But  why  should 
you  change  like  this  ?  Why  are  you  different  to- 
day from  that  day  ?  Why  should  you  suppose 
now  that  I  could  make  you  happy,  if  you  did  not 
then?" 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  being  made  happy.  I 
love  you  so  deeply,  so  truly,  so  unalterably ; " 
again  his  voice  shook  and  faltered,  "  that  it  no 
longer  seems  to  matter  to  me  whether  I  am 
happy  or  not.     All  that  matters  is,  if  I  can  be  of 


CONCLUSION  807 

any  use  to  you.     I  am  yours  to  do  with  what  you 

please.    Take  me  now ;  cast  me  off  to-morrow ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  mutely. 
"Dear  lady,"  he  said,  returning  the  look  with 
a  calm  and  steadfast  gaze,  "  that  I  should  have 
been  so  madly  selfish  as  to  think  of  my  own  ease 
and  peace  at  such  a  time  seems  almost  incredible 
to  me  now.  When  I  spoke  to  your  uncle,  it  is 
true  that  I  said — and  believed  when  sa3'ing  so  I 
spoke  the  truth — that  I  was  but  guarding  against 
a  fearful  mistake  on  your  part,  which  would  for 
ever  blight  your  life  as  it  would  mine.  But  I 
know  now  that  I  was  in  reality  thinking,  shame 
upon   me !    more   of  myself  than   of  you.     You 

would  have  found  me  faithful " 

— "While  I  should  have  been  faithless." 
"  Be  faithless  now,  if  you  will,  I  am  at  your 
feet."  Again  he  bowed  low  before  her.  "My 
heart  is  yours ;  has  been  so  from  the  first ;  will 
be  so  always.  But  you  shall  be  free.  Whatever 
you  command,  I  will  obey.  If  I  can  be  of  any 
use  to  you,"  he  repeated,  softly,  "  I  am  more  than 
honoured,  I  am  content." 

"  Still  you  do  not  believe  in  me,  Sir  Patrick?  " 
"I  believe  in  your  great  goodness,  and  in  the 
sincerity  of  your  intentions." 


308  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

"  My  present  intentions  ;  "  significantly. 

**  You  are  very  young.  I  fancy  your  nature  is 
impulsive ;  and  forgive  me  if  I  suggest  that  it  is 
possible  you  have  never  given  much  time  to 
reflection." 

"So  you  expect  me  to  throw  you  off?  Or  if 
hot  that,  to  repent  later  of  my  present  caprice  ?  " 

A  long  pause  ensued,  then  "I  do  "  said  he,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  And  yet '?  " 

"  And  yet  I  ask  you,  I  beg  you  from  the  depths 
of  my  inmost  heart,  I  entreat  you  to  take  me  for 
your  affianced  husband." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Sir  Patrick,"  she  started 
aside, — *' was  ever  woman  so  entreated?  Do  you 
think  I  would — or  could?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  came  to  learn." 

"  But  it  is  unheard  of." 

"  Oh,  no ;  "  he  shook  his  head  gently.  "  Not 
unheard  of.  What  true  knight  would  not  gladly 
lay  down  his  life  for  her  he  loves  ?  And  may  I 
not  offer  something,  some  poor  offering,  only  too 
grateful  if  it  be  accepted  ?  " 

"  Thinking  of  me  as  you  do,  you  can't  love 
me." 

No  reply. 


CONCLUSION  809 

"  I  say  you  can't,"  she  cried,  passionately,  "  but 
if  you  knew  me  better,  I  think — oh,  I  know  you 
would  not  be  so  unjust  and  cruel.  Sir  Patrick, 
indeed,  indeed,  I  am  not  what  I  appear.  The 
world  thinks  of  me  as  a  giddy  girl,  caring  for 
nothing  but  the  gratification  of  her  own  vanity 
and  pleasure.  Those  about  me  are  ambitious  for 
my  advancement,  and  I  have  let  them  think — no, 
I  will  speak  the  truth — I  have  too  often  thought 
with  them,  that  to  be  what  is  commonly  called  '  a 
great  lady '  was  the  most  desirable  thing  imagin- 
able for  me.  But  left  to  myself,  I  do  not  think 
so.  I  have  a  better  self  that  hates  and  scorns  the 
idea.  I  want  to  be — good  ;  "  tears  streamed  down 
her  face  ;  "I  want  to  learn  what  goodness  is,  and 
practise  it.  I  want  to  have  another  standard 
from  that  I  see  raised  about  me.  You  hold  it. 
You  are  a  religious  man.  I  have  watched  you, 
and  know  that  there  is  something  in  your  life 
which  makes  you  different  from  the  men  who  come 

round  me.     And  I  thought — I  thought "  she 

struggled  with  her  tears,  "that  you  would  help 
me."  She  moved  towards  him,  sobbing  as  she 
came. 

Another  lover   would   have   caught  her  in  his 
arms,  but  Sir  Patrick  stepped  back  a  pace,  then 


310  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

slowly  and  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  humility 
bent  low,  and  taking  her  hand  in  both  of  his, 
kissed  it.  The  light  of  a  new  world  seemed 
breaking  in  upon  him. 

"  Don't  speak,  don't  speak,  till  I  can  speak," 
whispered  she;  "it  is  not  —  not  altogether  as 
you  think.  I  said.  Did  you  suppose  I  could 
accept  you  on  your  terms?  I  can't.  I  should 
despise  myself  if  I  could.  But  do  not  think," 
recovering  herself  somewhat,  she  smiled  upon 
him  tenderly,  whilst  yet  the  tears  welled 
from  her  eyes,  "  that  I  can  afford  for  this  to 
let  go  the  only  lover  who  has  ever  loved  me 
for  myself  and  despite  myself?  Sir  Patrick,  let 
this  be  our  compact.  I  go  from  here  to-night, 
and  we  are  not  to  meet,  nor  to  write,  nor  to  try 
and  influence  each  other  in  any  way  for  a  year's 
time- " 

• — "  A  whole  year  !  "  Her  heart  leaped  at  his 
tone.     She  laid  her  other  hand  in  his. 

"A  whole  long  year."  .  .  .  They  were  now 
gazing  into  each  other's  eyes.  "  I  shall  go  my 
way  and  you  yours.  .  .  .  You  know  me  better 
now,  I  think?"  softly,  and  leaning  towards  him, 
"  and  perhaps  you  will  begin  to  trust  me  from 
to-night  ?     At  the  end  of  a  year " 


CONCLUSION  811 

"  Summon  me  any  time — any  time,"  fervently. 

"  I  shall  not  summon  you  before  the  year  is 
out.  You  have  got  to  prove  me,  and  I  to  prove 
myself.  I  am  not  afraid ;  but  I  daresay  you 
are " 

"  No,  no.     Not  now." 

"  If  doubts  come  into  your  mind,  try  to  thrust 
them  out.  Say  '  She  is  a  poor  creatui'e,  but  she 
loves  me '  " 

"May  I?  May  I  indeed  say  that?"  He 
hung  upon  her  lips. 

— "And  commit  her  to  the  care  of  One  who 
sees  not  as  men  see,  who  knows  the  heart." 
She  was  sobbing  now  upon  his  breast. 

"  Day  and  night  I  will  so  commit  you — Mary." 

"It  is  arranged  then,"  said  she,  lifting  her 
head  at  last;  "and — hush!  they  are  at  the  door 
now.  The  boat  ?  It  must  be  the  boat.  One 
'  moment,  dear  Sir  Patrick,  one  promise  you  must 
make  me  before  we  part.  When  the  year  is  out, 
if  I  send  from  wherever  I  am  to  wherever  you 
are,  this  little  word  '  Come,'  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  So  help  me  God,"  he  said,  "  I  will." 

The  year  is  almost  expired,  and  the  other  day 


312  SIR   PATRICK:    THE   PUDDOCK 

when  I  chanced  to  be  in  at  Redfern's  where 
smart  winter  costumes  are  on  view,  who  should 
enter  to  have  her  new  tweed  suit  fitted  on  but  the 
beautiful  heiress,  Miss  Mary  Harborough.  She 
was  going  to  Scotland,  she  said,  within  a  week,  and 
positively  must  have  her  suit.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  a  lovelier  face,  nor  one  more  radiantly 
happy.  As  I  knew  her  slightly  I  stepped  forward 
to  enquire  after  uncle  Jo  ? 

Her  uncle  was  in  the  best  of  health,  she  said, 
and  at  Losca  Castle  still.  It  was  late  in  the  year, 
but — and  oh,  how  she  smiled  ! — he  was  detained 
there.     She  was  about  to  join  him. 

Lady  Harborough  ? 

Lady  Harborough  was  also  well,  and  also  pro- 
ceeding to  the  Highlands — presently. 

Then  I  knew  that  what  rumour  had  whispered 
was  for  once  the  truth,  and  that  the  tartan  plaid 
across  the  broad  breast  of  as  honest  and  true- 
hearted  a  little  fellow  as  ever  lived,  covered  a 
heart  which  not  many  days  thereafter  would  be 
the  proudest  and  most  joyful  heart  in  all  the 
length  and  breadth  of  bonnie  Scotland. 


UNWIN  BBOTHKBS,  THE  GRESHAM  PBESS,  WOKING  AND  LONDON. 


A  Selected  List  of  Fiction 

Published  by       «       «       «       «       «       « 

Longmans,  Green,  &  Co., 

91  and  93  Fifth  Avenue,  »  New  York. 


BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

Each  volume  illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  $1.25. 

A  Gentleman  of  France.      The  Man  in  Black. 
The  House  of  the  Wolf.  New  edition  preparing. 

Under  the  Red  Roue.  From  the  MExMOirs  of  a 

My  Lady  Rotha.  Minister  of  France. 

The  Story  of  Francis  Cludde. 


Shrewsbury,  with  24  Illustrations,  Decorative  Cover,  $1  50 
The  Red  Cockade, with  48  lUusirations,  cloth,  $1.50. 
The  Castle  Inn,  with  6  lull-page  lIluBtraiions,  $1.50. 

BY  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD. 

Each  volume  illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  $1  25. 
The  People  of  the  Mist.      Cleopatra. 
Heart  of  the  World.  She. 

Joan  Haste.  The  Wizard. 

Dawn.  Beatrice. 

Montezuma's  Daughter.       The  World's  Desire. 
Nada  the  Lily.  Allan  QuAiERMAfN. 

Eric  Brighteyes. 


Swallow,  with  12  full-page  Illustrations,  $i  50. 
Doctor  Therne.     A  Story.      Crown  8vo,  $1.00. 

By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Micah  Clarke.      Illustrated.     i2mo,  cloth.  $1.25. 
The  Captain  of  the  Polestar,  and  Oth<-'    I  ■'••<      :^t  ^' 

By  Edna  Lyall. 

DoREEN.     The  Story  of  a  Singer.      Crown  Svo,  ci<  ih.  S'.S'^. 
The  Autobiography  of  a  Slander.    Illustrated.    Cloth.  $i.oa 
The  Autobiography  of  a  TRirni.     Cloth,  50  cents. 
Wayfaring  Men.     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Hope  THE  Hermit.     Crown  '^'•'-'    ■■},,t\^   s;i  io. 

By  Mrs.  Walford. 

The  Matchmaker.     Crown  Svo.  buckram  cIau.  $i.5'''' 

The  One  Good  Guest.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1  00  ;  paper.  50  cents. 

"  Ploughed,"  and  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

IvA  KiLDARE.     A  Matrimoni.il  Problem.     Crown  Svo.  $1.50. 

Leddy  Marget.     Crown  Svo,  buckram,  Si. 50. 

The  Intruders.     Crown  8vo,  buckram,  Sl^s-^- 

The  Archdeacon.     Crown  Svo,  buckram,  $1.50. 


By  Archibald  Birt. 

Castle  CzvARGAS.     A  Romance.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
By  E.  N.  Barrow. 

The  King's  Rivals.     With  Frontispiece.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
By  Clementina  Black. 

Princess  D£siree.     A  Romance.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

By  J.  W.  De  Forrest. 

A  Lover's  Revolt.     With  Frontispiece.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

By  Miss  L.  Dougall. 

Beggars  All.     A  Novel.     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

What  Necessity  Knows.     A  Novel.     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

By  Julia  Magruder. 

The  Violet.     Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

By  Brander  Matthews. 

A  Family  Tree.     Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

By  Henry  Seton  Merriman. 

Flotsam.     The  Study  of  a  Life.      Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

By  A.  E.  W.  Mason  and  Andrew  Lang. 

Parson  Kelly.     Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

By  Emily  E.  Reader. 

Priestess  and  Queen:  A  Tale  of  the  White  Race  of  Mexico; 
being  the  Adventures  of  Ignigene  and  her  Twenty-six  Fair 
Maidens.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

By  Owen    Rhoscomyl. 

Battlement  and  Tower.     With  Frontispiece.      Cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Jewel  of  Ynys  Galon.     With    12    full-page  Illustrations  by 

Lancelot  Speed.      Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  "White  Rose  of  Arno.     Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

By  5.  Levett= Yeats. 

The  Chevalier  d'Auriac.     Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Heart  of  Denise.     With  Frontispiece.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

By  Mrs.  Ward. 

One  Poor  Scruple.     A  Seven  Weeks'  Story.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

By  Fred  Whishaw. 

A  Boyar  of  the  Terrible.     A  Romance  of  the  Court  of  Ivan  the 

Cruel,  First  Tsar  of  Russia.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
A  Tsar's  Gratitude.     Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

By  Mrs.  Woods. 

Weeping  Ferry.     Crown  Svo,  buckram  cloth,  $1.50. 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS 
OF  A  MINISTER  OF  FRANCE. 

Br  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBK,"  KTC,  KTC. 

With    36    Illustrations,    of    which    1  5    are   full-page. 
12mo,  Cloth,   Ornamental,  $1.25. 

"A  collection  of  twelve  tales,  each  one  of  which  is  to  be  classed  as  a  masterpiece 
so  subtle  and  strong  is  it  in  the  revelation  of  character,  so  impressive  its  portrayai 
of  the  times  and  the  scenes  with  which  it  deals.  .  .  .  Mr.  Wevman  has  produced 
a  really  brilliant  book,  one  that  will  appeal  alike  to  the  lovers  of  literature  of  adven- 
ture, and  to  those  who  demand  in  fiction  the  higher  intellectual  quality  Tht 
chances  are  that  those  who  take  it  up  will  not  put  it  down  again  with  a  pae'e  or  even 
a  line  unread."— Boston  Beacon. 

^r  UfZ°  ''''''^,  ^'"i^"  '"•*"'''^'  ^H"^  P*"  adventure  and  to  lose  all  sense,  for  the  momenl 
of  life  s  complexities  is  a  refreshment;  it  is  to  drink  again  at  lie  pure  spring  o 
romance  .     Weyinan     .     .     .     has  caught  more  of  the  inner  spirit  of  sfxteenlh 

century  life  than  any  romancer  since  Scott."— Oregonian,  Portland,  Ore. 

"  These  briefer  tales  have  all  the  charm  and  attractiveness  that  attach  to  their 
authors  longer  romances,  and  many  of  the  leading  characters  of  the  latter  figure  in 
u^' ,  ^^,'-l',','^"^s  the  attention  of  the  reader  at  the  very  outset  and  holds  it  to  the  end  • 
while  his  skill  as  a  story-teller  is  so  great  that  his  characters  become  real  beings  to  us' 
and  the  scenes  which  he  describes  seem  actual  and  present  occurrences  as  he  narrates 
them.  —Sacred  Heart  Review,  Boston. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE   WOLF. 

A    ROMANCE. 
By  STANLEY  J.   WEYMAN, 

author    of    "  A    GENTLEMAN    OF   FRANCE,"   ETC. 


With    Frontispiece  and   Vignette    by   Charles    Kerr, 
12mo,   Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"A  delightful  volume  .  .  .  one  of  the  brightest,  briskest  talcs  I  have  met  with  fori 
long  time.  Dealing  with  the  Eve  of  St.  Bartholomew  it  portrays  that  night  of  horror  from  a 
point  entirely  new,  and,  we  may  add,  relieves  the  gloom  by  many  a  flash  and  s'eani  of  mn- 
shine.  Best  of  all  is  the  conception  of  the  VidSnie.  His  character  alone  would  make  the 
book  live." — Critic,  N.  Y. 

"  Recounted  as  by  an  eye  witness  in  a  forceful  way  with  a  rapid  and  graphic  style  that 
commands  interest  and  admiration. 

Of  the  half  dozen  stories  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Eve  which  we  have  read  thi»  rankt  firtl 
in  vividness,  delicacy  of  perception,  reserve  power,  and  high  principle.'' 

— Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 

"A  romance  which,  although  short,  deserves  a  place  in  literature  alone  »'Je  ol  Ch&tlct 
Reade's  '  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.'  .  .  .  We  have  piven  Mr.  Wcyman's  book  not  only 
a  thorough  reading  with  great  interest,  but  also  a  more  than  usual  aninniit  of  s|>.iie  Ixcaute 
we  consider  it  one  of  the  best  examples  in  recrnt  fiction  of  how  thrilling  an. I  even  bloody 
adventures  and  scenes  may  be  described  in  a  style  that  Is  graphic  and  true  to  detail,  and  yel 


aaventures  ana  scenes  may  be  aescrinea  ui  a  style  inai  is  j 
delicate,  quaint,  and  free  from  all  coarseness  and  brutality 

— C 


OMMKRCIAI.   ADVERTISI-R,    N.  Y. 


LONGMANS,  GKEEN,  &  CO..  91-93  FIFTH  AVE..  NEW  YORK. 


A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE. 

Oainir  the  Memoirs  of  Gaston  de  Bonn*. 
Sleur  de  Marsac. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE    HOUSB    OF  THE   WOLF,"   ETC. 

With  Frontispiece  and  Vignette  by  H.  J.  Ford. 
12mo,  Cloth,   Ornamental,  $1.25. 

"■■'One  of  the  best  novels  since  'Lorna  Doone.'  It  will  be  read  and  then  re»read  for  th« 
.icre  pleaetrre  its  reading  gives.  The  subtle  charm  of  it  is  not  in  merely  transporting  the 
ninetcentlr-ceTitury  reader  to  the  sixteenth,  that  he  may  see  hfe  as  it  was  then,  but  in  trans- 
forming him  into  a  sixteenth-century  man,  thinking  its  thoughts,  and  living  its  life  in  perfecl 
touch  and  sympathy  ...  it  carries  the  reader  out  of  his  present  life,  giving  him  a  new 
and  totally  different  existence  that  rests  and  refreshes  him." — N.  Y.  World. 

"  No  novelist  outside  of  France  has  displayed  a  more  definite  comprehension  of  the  very 
essence  of  mediseval  French  life,  and  no  one,  certainly,  has  been  able  to  set  forth  a  depiction 
of  it  in  colors  so  vivid  and  so  entirely  in  consonance  with  the  truth.  .  .  .  The  characters 
in  the  tale  are  admirably  drawn,  and  the  narrative  is  nothing  less  than  fascinating  in  its  fine 
flavor  of  adventure." — Beacon,  Boston. 

"  We  hardly  know  whether  to  call  this  latest  work  of  Stanley  J.  Weyman  a  historical 
lomance  or  a  story  of  adventure.  It  has  all  the  interesting,  fascinating  and  thrilling  charac- 
teristics of  both.  The  scene  is  in  France,  and  the  time  is  that  fateful  eventful  one  which 
culminated  in  Henry  of  Navarre  becoming  king.  Naturally  it  is  a  story  of  plots  and  intrigue, 
of  danger  and  of  the  grand  passion,  abounding  in  intense  dramatic  scenes  and  most  interest- 
ing situations.     It  is  a  romance  which  will  rank  among  the  masterpieces  of  historic  fiction." 

— Advertiser,  Boston. 

"  A  romance  after  the  style  of  Dumas  the  elder,  and  well  worthy  of  being  read  by  thos« 
who  can  enjoy  stirring  adventures  told  in  true  romantic  fashion.  .  .  .  The  great  person- 
ages of  the  time — Henry  III.  of  Valois,  Henry  IV.,  Rosny,  Rambouillet,  Turenne — are 
brought  in  skillfully,  and  the  tragic  and  varied  history  of  the  time  forms  a  splendid  frame  in 
which  to  set  the  picture  of  Marsac's  love  and  courage  .  .  .  the  troublous  days  are  well 
described  and  the  interest  is  genuine  and  lasting,  for  up  to  the  very  end  the  author  manages 
effects  which  impel  the  reader  to  go  on  with  renewed  curiosity." — The  Nation. 

"A  genuine  and  admirable  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  turn  manypages 
before  he  finds  himself  in  the  grasp  of  a  writer  who  holds  his  attention  to  the  very  last  mo- 
ment of  the  story.     The  spirit  of  adventure  [lervades  the  whole  from  beginning  to  end.     .     .     . 

It  may  be  said  that  the  narration  is  a  delightful  love  story.  The  interest  of  the  reader 
is  constantly  excited  by  the  development  of  unexpected  turns  in  the  relation  of  the  principal 
lovers.  The  romance  lies  against  a  background  of  history  truly  painted.  .  .  .  The 
descriptions  of  the  court  life  of  the  period  and  of  the  (actional  strifes,  divisions,  hatreds  of  th» 
age,  are  fine.  .  .  .  This  story  of  those  times  is  worthy  of  a  very  high  place  among  histori- 
cal novels  of  recent  years."— Public  Opinion. 

"  Bold,  strong,  dashing,  it  is  one  of  the  best  we  have  read  for  many  years.  We  sat  down 
for  a  cursory  perusal,  and  ended  by  reading  it  delightedly  through.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman 
has  much  of  the  vigor  and  rush  of  incident  of  Dr.  Conan  Doyle,  and  this  book  ranks  worthilv 
beside  '  I'he  White  Company.'  .  .  .  We  very  cordially  recommend  this  book  to  the  jaded 
novel  reader  who  cares  for  manly  actions  more  than  for  morbid  introspection." 

— The  Churchman. 

"The  book  is  not  only  good  literature,  it  is  a  'rattling  good  story,'  instinct  with  the 
tpirit  of  true  adventure  and  stirring  emotion.  Of  love  and  peril,  intrigue  and  fighting,  there 
is  plenty,  and  many  scenes  could  not  have  been  bettered.  In  all  his  adventures,  and  they 
are  many,  Marsac  acts  as  befits  his  epoch  and  his  own  modest  yet  gallant  personality.  Well- 
known  historical  figures  emerge  in  telling  fashion  under  Mr.  Weyman's  discriminating  and 
fascinating  touch." — Athenaeum. 

"I  cannot  fancy  any  reader,  old  or  young,  not  sharing  with  doughty  Crillon  his  admiration 
for  M.  de  Marsac,  who,  though  no  swashbuckler,  has  a  sword  that  leaps  from  its  scabbard  at  the 
breath  of  insult.  .  .  .  There  are  several  historical  personages  in  the  novel ;  there  is,  ol 
course,  a  heroine,  of  great  beauty  and  enterprise ;  but  that  true  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
M.  dr  Marsac,  with  his  perseverance  and  valor,  dominates  them  all." 

— Mr.  James  Pavn  in  the  Illustrateb  London  News. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  STORY  OF  FRANCIS  CLUDDE. 

By    STANLEY   J.   WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "a  gentleman  OF  FRAJ^'CE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROnE,"  "THE  HOUSB  OT 
THE  WOLF,"  "mV  LADV  ROTHA,"  ETC. 


With  FoLir  Illustrations.      Crown  Svo,  $1.25. 


"A  delightfully  told  and  exciting  tale  of  the  troublesome  times  of  Bloody  Mary  In  Eng 
land,  and  the  hero — every  inch  a  hero — was  an  important  actor  in  them." 

— New  ORLEA.NS  Picavl'.nk. 

"  It  is  a  highly  exciting  tale  from  beginning  to  end,  and  very  well  told." 

— New  York  Herald. 

"One  of  the  best  historical  novels  that  we  have  read  for  some  time.  .  .  .  It  is  a 
story  of  the  time  of  Queen  Marj-,  and  is  possessed  of  great  dramatic  power.  .  .  .  In  char- 
acter-drawing the  story  is  unexcelled,  and  the  reader  will  follow  the  remarkable  adventures 
of  the  three  fugitives  with  the  most  intense  interest,  which  end  with  the  happy  change  on 
the  accession  of  Elizabeth  to  the  throne." — Home  Journal,  Bosto.v. 

"  The  book  presents  a  good  historical  pen-picture  of  the  most  stirring  period  of  English 
civilization,  and  graphically  describes  scenes  and  incidents  which  undoubtedly  happened. 
The  style  is  plain,  and  the  book  well  worthy  of  careful  perusal. 

"  Humor  and  pathos  are  in  the  pages,  and  many  highly  dramatic  scenes  are  described 
with  the  ability  of  a  master  hand." — Ite.m,  Phil^oelhhlv 

"  Is  worthy  of  careful  reading;  it  is  a  unique,  powerful,  and 
scene  of  which  is  laid  alternately  in  England,  the  Netherlands,  a; 
th^  times  are  those  of  Bloody  Mary.     Bishop  Gardiner  plavs  a  II.-. 
which  presents  in  good  shape  the  manners  and  customs  of  llie  pcric«l." 

— Buffalo  Commerciau 

"A  romance  of  the  olden  days,  full  of  fire  and  life,  with  touches  hi--^-  •'"  '  tl.r..    t  i  .,  . 
and  politics.     .     .     .     NVe  have  in  this  book  a  genuine  romance  of  Oil 
soldiers,  chancellors,  dukes,  priests,  and  high-born  dames  figure.     The   ■ 

the  war  with  Spain.     Knightly  deeds  abound.    The  story  will  more  than  4..;^.^ ^  .   ..  .^.  . 

it  will  charm  him,  and  he  will  scan  the  notices  of  forthcoming  books  for  another  novel  by 
Weyman." — Public  Oi'inion,  New  York. 

"Its  humor,  its  faithful  observance  of  the  old  English  style  of  wt;- 
adherence  to  historic  events  and  localities,  will  recommend  it  to  all  wli 
novels.     The  scenes  are  laid  in  England  and  in  the  Netherlands  in  th-  i 

Queen  Mary's  life."— Literary  World,  Boston. 

"  Is  distinguished  by  an  uncommon  display  of  the  inventive  farullv.  n  Diimas-lilte  incenu- 

ity  in  contriving  dangerous  situations,  and  an  enviable  fari!-' ••  •   ••  ■   ■  •' • —  ■••  -  ' 

hero  from  the  very  jaws  of  destruction.     The  scene  is  laid 
erlands,  and  the  Rhenish  Palatinate;  the  times  are  those  it 

plays  a  leading  part  in  this  romance,  which  presents  in  goni    :.  .j". -  ...  ■ 

of  the  period.  It  is  useless  dividing  the  story  into  arbitrar>'  chapters,  for  they  wiii  not  serve 
to  prevent  the  reader  from  'devouring'  the  '  Story  of  Francis  Cluddc,'  from  the  stormy 
Ijeginning  to  its  peaceful  end  in  the  manor-house  at  Coton  End." 

— Puuuc  Ledger,  PHiu\DEiJ'HtA. 

"  This  is  certainly  a  commendable  story,  being  full  of  interest  and  told  with  great 
spirit.  .  .  .  It  is  a  capital  book  for  the  young,  and  even  the  less  hardened  ner\*es  of  the 
middle  aged  will  find  here  no  superfluity  of  gore  or  bnitality  to  mar  their  pleasure  in  a 
bright  and  clean  tale  of  prowess  and  adventure."— Nation,  New  York. 

"  A  well-told  tale,  with  few,  if  anv,  anachronisms,  and  a  credit  to  the  clever  talent  uf 
Stanley  J.  Weyman."— Springfield  Republican. 

"  It  is  undeniably  the  best  volume  which  Mr.  Weyman  hus  ijiven  us,  both  in  literary 
style  and  unceasing  interest." — Yale  Literarv  Magazine. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


UNDER    THE    RED    ROBE. 

A    ROMANCE. 

By   STANLEY   J.  WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "a  gentleman  OF  FRANCE,"  "THE  HOUSK  OF  THE  WOLF,"  ETC 


With    1  2  Full-page   Illustrations  by  R.  Caton  Woodvlllo. 
1  2mo,  Lineh   Cloth.  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  Mr.  Weyinan  is  a  brave  writer,  who  imagines  fine  things  and  describes  them 
splendidly.  There  is  something  to  interest  a  healthy  mind  on  every  page  of  his  new 
story.  Its  interest  never  flags,  for  his  resource  is  rich,  and  it  is,  moreover,  the  kind  of 
a  story  that  one  cannot  plainly  see  the  end  of  from  Chapter  I.  .  .  .  the  story  reveals 
a  knowledge  of  Freuch  character  and  French  landscape  that  was  surely  never  ac- 
quired at  second  hand.  The  beginning  is  wonderfully  interesting." — New  York  Times. 

"  As  perfect  a  novel  of  the  new  school  of  fiction  as  '  Ivanhoe  '  or  '  Henry  Esmond  ' 
was  of  theirs.  Each  later  story  has  shown  a  marked  advance  in  strength  and  treat- 
ment, and  in  the  last  Mr.  Weyman  .  .  .  demonstrates  that  he  has  no  superior 
among  living  novelists.  .  .  .  There  are  but  two  characters  in  the  story — his  art 
makes  all  other  but  unnoticed  shadows  cast  by  them — and  the  attention  is  so  keenly 
Sxed  upon  one  or  both,  from  the  first  word  to  the  last,  that  we  live  in  their  thoughts 
and  see  the  drama  unfolded  through  their  eyes." — N.  Y.  World. 

"  It  was  bold  to  take  Richelieu  and  his  time  as  a  subject  and  thus  to  challenge  com- 
parison with  Dumas's  immortal  musketeers  ;  but  the  result  justifies  the  boldness.  .  .  . 
The  plot  is  admirably  clear  and  strong,  the  diction  singularly  concise  and  telling,  and 
the  stirring  events  are  so  managed  as  not  to  degenerate  into  sensationalism.  Few 
better  novels  of  adventure  than  this  have  ever  been  written." — Outlook,  New  York. 

"  A  wonderfully  brilliant  and  thrilling  romance.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has  a  positive 
talent  for  concise  dramatic  narration.  Every  phrase  tells,  and  the  characters  stano 
out  vv'ith  life-like  distinctness.  Some  of  the  most  fascinating  epochs  in  French  history- 
have  been  splendidly  illuminated  by  his  novels,  which  are  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
notable  successes  of  later  nineteenth-century  fiction.  This  story  of '  Under  the  Red 
Robe'  is  in  its  way  one  of  the  very  best  things  he  has  done.  It  is  illustrated  with 
vigor  and  appropriateness  from  twelve  full-page  designs  by  R.  Caton  Woodville." 

— Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  a  skillfully  drawn  picture  of  the  times,  drawn  in  simple  and  transparent 
English,  and  quivering  with  tense  human  feeling  from  the  first  word  to  the  last.  It  is 
not  a  book  that  can  be  laid  down  at  the  middle  of  it.  The  reader  once  caught  in  its 
whirl  can  no  more  escape  from  it  than  a  ship  from  the  maelstrom." 

— Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"The  'red  robe'  refers  to  Cardinal  Richelieu,  in  whose  day  the  story  is  laid. 
The  descriptions  of  his  court,  his  jud'cial  machinations  and  ministrations,  his  partial 
defeat,  stand  out  from  the  book  as  vivid  as  flame  against  a  background  of  snow.  For 
the  rest,  the  book  is  clever  and  interesting,  and  overflowing  with  heroic  incident. 
Stanley  Weyman  is  an  author  who  has  apparently  come  to  stay." — Chicago  Post. 

"  In  this  story  Mr.  Weyman  returns  to  the  scene  of  his  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
although  his  new  heroes  are  of  different  mould.  The  book  is  full  of  adventure  and 
characterized  by  a  deeper  studv  of  character  than  its  predecessor." 

— Washington  Post. 

"Mr.  Weyman  has  quite  topped  his  first  success.  .  .  .  The  author  artfully 
pursues  the  line  on  which  his  happy  initial  venture  was  laid.  We  have  in  Berault,  the 
hero,  a  more  impressive  Marsac  ;  an  accomplished  duelist,  telling  the  tale  of  his  own 
adventures,  he  first  repels  and  finally  attracts  us.  He  is  at  once  the  tool  of  Richelieu, 
and  a  man  of  honor.  Here  is  a  noteworthy  romance,  full  of  thrilling  incident  set  down 
by  a  master-hand."— Philadelphia  Press. 


LOBrGMANS,  GEEEN.  &  00.,  91-93  PIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


MY  LADY  ROTHA. 

A   ROMANCE  OF  THE  THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR. 
By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

ATJTHOK  OF    "'a   gentleman   OF   FRANCE,"    "UNDER    THB     HED    KOBE," 

"the  house  op  the  wolf." 


With  EifeTht  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo,  $1.25. 


"  Few  writers  of  fiction  who  have  appeared  in  England  in  the  last  decade  have  given 
their  readers  more  satisfaction  than  Mr.  Stanley  J.  VVcjman,  and  no  single  writer  of  this 
number  can  be  said  to  have  approached  him,  much  less  tc.  have  equaled  him  in  the  romantic 
world  of  the  historical  novel  ...  he  has  the  art  of  storj'-iclling  in  tl.c  highest  degree, 
the  art  which  instinctively  divines  the  secret,  the  soul  ol  the  storj-  which  he  tells,  and  the 
rarer  art,  if  it  be  not  the  arllessness,  which  makes  it  as  real  and  as  inevitable  as  life  itself. 
His  characters  are  alive,  human,  unforgetable,  resembling  in  this  respect  those  of  Thackeray 
in  historical  lines  and  in  a  measure  those  of  Dumas,  with  whom,  and  not  inaptly,  Mr.  Wcy 
man  has  been  compaied.  His  literature  is  good,  so  good  that  we  accept  il  as  a  matter  of 
course,  as  we  do  that  of  Thackeray  and  Scoit.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman'i  historical  novels 
will  live.'' — New  York  Mail  and  Exi'Kess. 

"...  differs  signally  from  Mr.  Weyman's  earlier  pubhshed  works.  It  is  treated 
with  the  minuteness  and  lovingness  of  a  first  story  which  has  grown  up  in  the  mind  of  the 
author  for  years.  .  .  .  Marie  Wort  is  one  of  the  bravest  souls  that  ever  mov  d  quietly 
along  the  pages  of  a  novel.  She  is  so  unlike  the  other  feminine  characters  whom  Wcyman 
has  drawn  that  the  difference  is  striking  and  adds  significance  to  this  one  book.  .  .  . 
'  My  Lady  Rotha  '  is  full  of  fascinating  interest,  all  the  more  remarkable  in  a  work  adhering 
so  strictly  to  historical  truth." — Evening  Post,  Chicago. 

"This  last  book  of  his  is  brimful  of  action,  rushing  forward  with  a  roar,  leaving  the 
reader  breathless  at  the  close  ;  for  if  once  begun  there  is  no  stopping  place.  'I  he  concep- 
tion is  unique  and  striking,  and  the  culmination  unexpected.  The  author  is  so  saturated 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times  of  which  he  writes,  that  he  merges  his  personality  .n  that  of  the 
supposititious  narrator,  and  the  virtues  and  failings  of  his  nn  n  and  w„mcn  are  set  forth  in  a 
fashion  which  is  captivating  from  its  very  simplicity.     It  is  one  of  his  best  novels." 

—  PtBLic  Opinion. 

"Readers  of  Mr.  Weyman's  novels  will  h  ave  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  his  just  pub- 
lished '  My  Lady  Rotha  '  in  every  way  his  greatest  and  most  artistic  production.  We 
know  of  nothing  more  fit,  both  in  conception  and  execution,  to  be  c'assed  with  the  immortal 
Waverleys  than  this  his  latest  work.  ...  A  slory  true  to  life  and  true  to  the  times 
which  Mr.  Weyman  has  made  such  a  careful  study."    — Tmh  Advkrtiskk.  Boston. 

"  No  one  of  Mr.  Weyman's  books  is  better  than  '  My  1  jdy  Rotha  '  unless  it  be  '  Under 
the  Red  Robe,'  and  those  who  have  learned  to  like  his  stories  of  the  old  days  when  might 
made  right  will  cnpreciate  it  thoroughly.     It  is  a  good  book  to  read  and  read  again." 

— Nhw  Yokk  Woklo. 

"...  As  good  a  tale  of  adventure  as  any  one  need  ask  ;  the  picture  of  those  war- 
like times  is  an  excellent  one,  full  of  life  and  color,  the  blare  of  trumpets  and  the  flash  o 
jteel — and  toward  the  close  the  description  of  the  bcsieecd  city  of  Nurenil)crg  and  of  the 
battle  under  Wallenstein's  entrenchments  is  masterly." — Poston  Travbi.i.kk. 

"The  loveliest  and  most  admirable  character  in  the  story  is  that  of  a  young  Catholv  girl, 
while  in  painting  the  cruelties  and  savage  barbarities  o(  war  at  that  period  the  brii«;.  is  held 
by  an  impartial  liand.  Hooks  of  adventure  and  romance  are  apt  to  be  cheap  and  ,ensatinn.il, 
Mr.  Weyman's  stories  are  worth  tons  of  such  stiifT.  'I'hey  are  thriHing,  exciti-.e,  ahsorhing, 
Jnteresting,  and  yet  clear,  strong,  and  healthy  in  tone,  written  by  a  gentlcmpw  and  a  man  ol 
sense  and  taste."— Sacked  Heart  Review,  Hoston. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  outdone  himself  in  this  remarkable  hook.  .  .  .  The  whole  «l<irv 
is  told  with  consummate  skill.  The  plot  is  artistically  devised  and  cnro'ieil  before  the  rrid- 
er's  eyes.  'J'he  language  is  simple  and  apt,  />nd  the  descriptions  are  grtphic  and  terse.  I  he 
charm  of  the  story  takes  hold  of  the  reader  on  the  very  first  page,  and  noldt  him  spell-bound 
to  the  very  end." — Naw  Oklbans  Picavunk. 

tONGMANS,  GKEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FirTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOKK. 


THE  RED  COCKADE. 

A   NOVEL  OF  THE   FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

WTHOR  OF  "a  gentleman  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE,"  "THE  HOUSE  OP 
THE  WOLF,"  "  MY  LADY  ROTHA,"  ETC. 


With  48  Illustrations  by  R.   Caton   Woodville.    Crown  Svo, 
Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50. 


"Deserves  a  place  among  the  best  historical  fiction  of  the  latter  part  of  this  century.  . 
.  .  The  gradual  maddening  of  the  people  by  agitators,  the  rising  of  those  who  have  re- 
venges to  feed,  the  burnings  and  the  outrages  are  described  in  a  masterly  way.  The  attack 
on  the  castle  of  St.  Alais,  the  hideous  death  of  the  steward,  the  looting  of  the  great  building, 
and  the  escape  of  the  young  lovers — these  incidents  are  told  in  that  breathless  way  which 
Weyman  has  made  familiar  in  other  stories.  It  is  only  when  one  has  finished  the  book  and 
has  gone  back  to  reread  certain  passages  that  the  dramatic  power  and  the  sustained  passion 
of  these  scenes  are  clearly  felt." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  'The  Red  Cockade,'  a  story  of  the  French  Revolution,  shows,  in  the  first  place,  care- 
ful study  and  deliberate,  well-directed  effort.  jMr.  Weyman  .  .  .  has  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  times.  .  .  .  The  book  is  brimful  of  romantic  incidents.  It  absorbs  one's  interest 
from  the  first  page  to  the  last;  it  depicts  human  character  with  truth,  and  it  causes  the  good 
and  brave  to  triumph.     In  a  word,  it  is  real  romance." — Syracuse  Post. 

"We  have  in  this  novel  a  powerful  but  not  an  exaggerated  study  of  the  spirit  of  the  high 
born  and  thd  low  born  which  centuries  of  aristocratic  tyranny  and  democratic  suffering  en- 
gendered in  France.  It  is  history  which  we  read  here,  and  not  romance,  but  history  which 
is  so  perfectly  written,  so  veritable,  that  it  blends  with  the  romantic  associations  in  which  it 
is  set  as  naturally  as  the  history  in  Shakespeare's  plays  blends  with  the  poetry  which  vital- 
izes and  glorifies  it." — Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"  It  will  be  scarcely  more  than  its  due  to  say  that  this  will  always  rank  among  Weyman's 
best  work.  In  the  troublous  times  of  1789  in  France  its  action  is  laid,  and  with  marvellous 
skill  the  author  has  delineated  the  most  striking  types  of  men  and  women  who  made  the  Rev- 
olution so  terrible." — Ntw  VoRK  World. 

" '  The  Red  Cockade '  is  a  novel  of  events,  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury and  full  of  stirring  romance.  The  tragic  period  of  the  French  Revolution  forms  a  frame 
in  which  to  set  the  adventures  of  Adrien  du  Pont,  Vicomte  de  Sau.x,  and  the  part  he  plays 
in  those  days  of  peril  has  a  full  measure  of  dramatic  interest.  .  .  .  INlr.  Weyman  has 
evidently  studied  the  history  of  the  revolution  with  a  profound  realization  of  its  intense 
tragedy." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  action  of  the  storj-  is  rapid  and  powerful.  The  Vicomte's  struggle  with  his  own 
prejudices,  his  unhappy  position  in  regard  to  his  friends,  the  perils  he  encounters,  and  the 
great  braverv  he  shows  in  his  devotion  to  Denise  are  stnkingly  set  forth,  while  the  historical 
background  'is  made  vivid  and  convincing— the  frenzy  caused  by  the  fall  of  the  Bastile,  the 
attacks  o'f  the  mob,  the  defence  and  strategy  of  the  nobihty,  all  being  described  with  dra- 
matic skill  and  verisimilitude.  It  is  a  fascinating  and  absorbing  tale,  which  carnes  the  reader 
with  it,  and  impresses  itself  upon  the  mind  as  only  a  novel  of  unusual  merit  and  powei 
tan  do." — Boston  Beacon. 

"The  storv  gives  a  view  of  the  times  which  is  apart  from  the  usual,  and  marked  with  a 
fine  study  of  history  and  of  human  conditions  and  impulse  on  Mr.  Weyman  s  part.  Regard- 
ing his  varied  and  well-chosen  characters  one  cares  only  to  say  that  they  are  full  of  interest 
and  admirably  portrayed.  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  stories  of  the  hour,  aad  one 
'A  the  most  delightfully  freighted  with  suggestion."— Chicago  Interior. 

"With  so  striking  a  character  for  his  hero,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  IVIr  Weyman  has 
evolved  a  story  that  for  ingenuitv  of  plot  and  felicity  of  treatment  is  equal  '«  !°me  °f  h.s 
best  efforts.  .  .  .  'The  Red  Cockade '  is  one  of  the  unmistakably  strong  historical  ro- 
mances of  the  season.  "^Boston  Herald. 

"  We  are  greatly  mistaken  if  the  '  Red  Cockade '  does  not  take  rank  with  the  vary 
best  book  that  Mr.  Weyman  has  written."— Scotsman. 

LONGMAl^S,  GREEIT,  &  CO.,  91-93  HFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEX. 


SHREWSBURY. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  TIME  OF  WILLIAM   AND  MARY. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  *  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  UNDER  THE  RKD  RO»E,"  "  THE  HOUIK  Of  TH« 

wou',"  "  MV  LADY  ROTHA,"  rrc. 


With  24-  Illustrations  by  Claude  A.  Shepperson.    Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1  .50. 


"  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman  has  written  a  rattling  good  r«mantlc  sl»ry  that  it  in  every  way 
worthy  of  the  author  of  the  ever-delightful  '  Gentleman  of  France.'  " — New  York  Sin. 

"  Considered  as  Active  literature,  the  novel  is  an  achievement  worlhv  of  high  .  . 
praise.  The  characters  are  projected  with  admirable  disuncmess:  the  whole  story  and  it« 
incidents  are  well  imagwied  and  described ;  the  reader,  while  he  cannot  repress  his  contempt 
for  the  supposed  narrator,  is  always  interested  in  the  storj-,  and  there  is  an  abundance  >( 
dramatic  action.  Mr.  Weyman  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  narrative  style  ol  the  perioj 
without  endeavoring,  evidently,  to  adhere  to  the  vocabulary  an  J  diction,  or  peculiariuei  of 
syntax.  .  .  .  Again  we  see  that  Mr.  Weyman  has  no  s«peri«r  among  living  writeni  of 
romance." — PHiLADELniiA  Pkess. 

"  Turning  aside  from  mediseval  French  scenes,  Stanley  J.  We\inan  takes  up  in  '  Shrew*^ 
bury*  an  English  theme,  and  he  weaves  from  the  warp  and  vfo*(  of  history  and  fancy  a  vivid, 
unique,  close-textured  and  enthralling  romance.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has  produced  in 
'  Shrewsbury'  a  novel  that  all  admirers  of  his  former  books  will  be  eager  lo  read,  and  that 
will  win  for  him  new  suffrages.     The  illustrations  are  drawn  with  skill  and  appreciatioo." 

— Bealo.s,  Boston. 

"  'Shrewsbury'  Is  a  magnificent  confirmation  of  Mr.  Weyman's  high  estate  in  tha  world 
of  fiction. 

Again  he  has  proved  in  this,  his  latest  novel,  that  the  romantic  treatment  is  capable, 
under  a  masterly  hand,  of  uniting  the  thrill  of  imagination  with  the  dignity  of  real  life.  His 
characters  art^  alive,  human,  unforgetablc.  His  scenes  are  unhackneyed,  dramatic,  power- 
ful. The  action  is  sustained  and  consistent,  sweeping  one's  interest  al.>nK  irreiistibly  to  ■ 
dinoue)ite)it  3i\.  once  logical  and  climactic.  And  through  it  all  there  glow.s  that  literary  charm 
which  makes  his  stories  live  even  as  those  of  .Scott  and  Dumas  live.     ... 

The  whole  novel  is  a  work  of  genuine  literary  art,  fully  confimiiiig  the  prediction  that 
when  the  author  of  'A  Gentleman  of  France'  once  began  to  deal  with  the  historical  maleriaU 
of  his  own  country  he  would  cHnch  his  title  to  be  ranked  among  the  greatest  •f  rumantie 
writers." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Aside  from  the  story,  which  is  remarkably  well  told,  this  hook  is  of  value  for  its  fine 
pen  pictures  of  William  of  Orange  and  his  leading  courtier" — a  story  of  abvirhing  intrr<-»i, 
but  it  differs  materially  from  any  of  his  other  works.  The  best  thing  in  the  book  i*  the 
sketch  of  Ferguson,  the  spy,  and  of  the  remarkable  hold  which  he  obtained  orer  proraiiirnt 
men  by  means  of  his  cunning  and  his  malignancy.  He  dominates  everx-  »rcne  in  which  hr 
appears.  Some  of  these  scenes  have  rarely  been  excelled  in  hl'torical  fiitlon  for  inten4it\  "f 
interest.  Those  who  have  not  read  it,  and  who  are  fond  of  the  romam  r  of  adventure,  wil' 
find  it  fulfils  Mr.  Balfour's  recent  definition  of  the  ideal  novel  -something  whi^  h  make*  us 
forget  for  the  time  all  worry  and  care,  and  transports  us  to  another  aad  more  picturesque  age  " 

--San  Kramisco  CHUOSici.r. 

"  A  most  readable  and  entertaining  ston,-.  .  .  .  Fcnjusun  and  Smith,  the  p)«ltef<. 
the  mothers  of  the  duke  and  Mary  the  courageous.  wIm  l)e(umr  the  wife  of  Prirr,  all  s*«-m 
very  real,  and  with  the  other  characters  and  the  adventures  which  they  go  ihr.^nfh  make  up 
an  interest-holding  book  which  can  be  honestly  recommended  lu  even'  reader  of  ti.-tion." 

—  Homos  Tivr-. 

"  A  romance  written  in  the  author's  best  vein.  The  character  drawing  is  particularlv 
admirable,  and  Richard  Price.  Ferguson.  King  William  and  Prown  stand  out  in  strong  relief 
and  with  the  most  expressive  vitality.  The  siorv  it  also  interesting  and  contains  many 
strong  scenes,  and  one  follows  the  adventures  of  the  variouo  thnracters  with  unnbatcd  ia 
tereit  from  first  page  to  laat." — Evrninc  Gazkttk,  Bustom. 


LONGMANS,  QEEEN.  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE..  NEW  YORK. 


THE    CASTLE    INN. 

A    ROMANCE. 

By  STANLEY   J.  WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "a  gentleman  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE, 
"SHREWSBURY,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With    six   fuU-pagre   Illustrations   by  Walter   Appleton   Clark. 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  ornamental,  $  1  .50. 


"A  tale  which  is  full  of  old-world  romance  and  adventure.  It  has  a  strong  flavor 
of  the  under  life  in  England  when  George  the  Third  was  young,  when  sign-posts 
served  also  as  gibbets,  when  travel  was  by  coach  and  highwaymen  were  many,  when 
men  drank  deep  and  played  high.  There  are  plenty  of  stirring  scenes  along  the  way, 
plenty  of  treachery  and  fighting  at  cross-purposes  which  lead  to  intricate  and  dramatic 
situations.  The  heroine's  charms  recall  Mile,  de  Cocheforet  in  '  Under  the  Red  Robe,' 
and  she  proves  herself  a  maid  of  spirit  through  all  the  mishaps  which  befall  her.  One 
of  the  most  notable  things  about  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  is  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Weyman 
has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  manages  to  imbue  his  readers  with  its  feeling." 

— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  ....  In  '  The  Castle  Inn,' this  master  of  romance  tells  a  story  of  the  time 
of  George  III.  in  the  third  person.  ...  A  story  of  rapid  action,  with  a  swinging 
succession  of  moving  incidents  that  keep  the  reader  incessantly  on  ihe  qui  vt've.  It 
deals  with  human  emotions  with  directness  and  thoughtfulness." 

— The  Press,  Phila.,  Pa. 

"...  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  .  .  .  is  so  fresh  and  entertaining  that  it  takes  one 
back  to  'A  Gentleman  of  France,'  and  other  good  things  this  author  did  several  years 
ago.  Mr.  Weyman,  in  looking  about  for  an  appropriate  setting  for  his  romance,  very 
wisely  eschews  scenes  and  people  of  to-day,  and  chooses,  instead,  England  a  hundred 
and  thirty  years  ago,  when  George  III.  was  on  her  throne,  and  living  was  a  far  more 
picturesque  business  than  it  is  now.  Beautiful  maidens  could  be  kidnapped  then; 
daring  lovers  faced  pistols  and  swords  in  behalf  of  their  sweethearts,  and  altogether 
the  pace  was  a  lively  one.  Mr.  Weyman  knows  how  to  use  the  attractive  colorings  to 
the  best  advantage  possible."— Chicago   Evening  Post. 

"...  a  piece  of  work  which  is  infinitely  better  than  anything  else  which  he 
has  accomplished.  He  has  treated  the  eighteenth  century,  the  time  of  the  elder  Pitt, 
with  a  grasp  and  a  sympathy  that  presage  a  greater  reputation  for  this  novelist  than 
he  has  enjoyed  hitherto.  The  story  itself  is  worth  the  telling,  but  the  great  thing  is 
the  way  it  is  told."— New  York  Sun. 

"...  he  has  a  firm  grasp  of  his  period  in  this  book,  and  revives  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  last  century  in  England,  with  its  shallow  graces  and  profound  brutality, 
coherently  and  even  with  eloquence  .  .  .  it  is  a  most  interesting  story,  which 
should  please  the  reader  of  romantic  tastes  and  sustain  the  author's  reputation." 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"The  characters  in  the  book  are  all  entertaining,  and  many  of  them  are  droll, 
while  a  few,  like  the  conscientious  Mr.  Fishwick.  the  attorney,  and  the  cringing 
parasite,  Mr.  Thoniasson,  are,  in  their  own  way,  masterpieces  of  character  study. 
Take  it  all  in  all,  '  The  Castle  Inn  '  is  in  many  ways  the  best  work  which  has  yet  come 
from  Mr.  Weyman's  pen." — Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  surpassed  himself  m  '  The  Castle  Inn.'  From  cover  to  cover 
the  book  teems  with  adventure  and  romance,  and  the  love  episode  is  delicious.  Julia 
will  live  as  one  of  the  most  graceful  heroines  in  the  literature  of  our  time.  .  .  . 
We  get  an  excellent  idea  of  the  doings  of  fashionable  society  in  the  time  when  George 
III.  was  young,  and  altogether  the  volume  can  be  heartily  recommended  as  the  best 
thing  that  Weyman  has  done,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  one,  at  least,  the  most  fascinating 
book  of  the  season." — Home  Journal,  New  York. 


LONaMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


BATTLEMENT  AND  TOWER. 

A    ROMANCE. 

By  OWEN   RHOSCOMVl., 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    jewel    OF    VNVS    GALON." 


With    Frontispiece    by    R.    Caton    Woodville.       12mo,    Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1.25. 

"  It  is  a  rare  tale  of  the  wars  of  the  Commonweallh.  The  hero,  Howel,  is  a  youiiK 
Welsh  lord  whose  father  gives  him  his  hereditary  sword  and  shield,  and  sends  hini  to 
battle  for  the  king.  His  adventures  in  love  and  war  are  ititenselv  fascinating,  and  the 
reader  puts  down  the  book  with  e.\treme  reluctance.  The  author  has  carefully  studied 
the  history  of  the  times,  and,  besides  being  a  thrilling  tale,  his  story  is  a  charniinij 
picture  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  day.    It  is  a  book  well  worth  reading." 

— Nkw  Orleans  Picavlse. 

"  •  •  •  a  powerful  romance  by  Owen  Rhosconiyl  of  the  swashbuckling  davs  ill 
North  Wales,  when  the  Roundheads  warred  against  the  Cavaliers,  and  Charles 'l.  o( 
England  lost  his  head,  both  metaphorically  and  literallv.  .  .  .  The  picturesque 
and  virile  style  of  the  author,  and  the  remarkable  power'he  displays  in  his  character 
drawing,  place  his  book  among  the  notable  pieces  of  fiction  of  the  year.  There  is 
plenty  of  lighting,  hard  riding,  lo\  e-making,  and  blood-letting  in  the  story,  but  the 
literary  touch  given  to  his  work  by  the  author  places  his  product  far  above  the  average 
of  the  many  tales  of  like  character  that  are  now  striving  to  satisfy  the  present  demand 
for  fiction  that  has  power  without  prurience." — World,  New  York. 

"There  is  a  vein  of  very  pretty  romance  which  runs  through  the  more  stirring 
scenes  of  battle  and  of  siege.  The  novel  is  certainly  to  be  widely  read  by  those  who 
love  the  tale  of  a  well-fought  battle  and  of  gallant  youth  in  the  days  when  men  carved 
their  way  to  fame  and  fortune  with  a  sword." — Advertiser,  Boston. 


FOR  THE  WHITE  ROSE  OF  ARNO. 

A  Story  of  the  Jacobite  Rising  of  1  74-5. 

By  OWEN  RHOSCOMYL. 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $  1  .25. 

"  Owen  Rhoscomyl  has  already  written  some  rare  stories  of  the  wars  nf  ihe  Com- 
monwealth that  have  met   with  a  splendid  showing  of  practical  appreciation  by  a 
world-wide  circle  of  readers.     This  latest  novel  by  the  pleasing  Welsh  writ<  r-  i ;  one  of 
the  most  powerful  romances  that  have  emanated  from  his  pen,  and  will   ' 
ceive  as  graceful  a  welcome  to  fiction  literature  as  his  previous  etForts  h    . 
is  a  stirring  story  of  Wales  when  the  Roundheads  were  warring  against  t: 
and  Charles  I  of  England  lost  his  head  and  liis  coveted  throne.    .The  st(ii\  r.  l>i:in!ul 
of  fighting,  of  hard  travel  and  riding,  and  old-time  love  making,  and  the  Mavor  of  old 
world  chivalry  in  the  tendeier  portions  of  the  novel  is  charming  and  complelc.     With 
tlu;  pen  of  a  realist,  the  author  hurries  his  readers  back  to  live  over  the  dead, old  wars, 
to  dwell  in  strange  Welsh  castles  that  long  ago  crumbled  into  dust,  and  to  view  the 
history  and  romances  of  those  early  days  as  something  tangible  with  our  own  exist- 
ences.    The  style  is  always  active,  virile  and  picturesque,  and  there  Is  not  a  dull  or 
tame  chapter  in  the  book."— Courier,  Bosto.n. 

"The  story  is  told  with  spirit,  and  holds  the  attention  without  effort.  The  action 
is  swift,  the  episodes  stirring,  the  character  drawing  admirable,  and  the  style  good. 
The  ultimate  defeat  of  the  Pretender,  and  the  final  diiiouement  are  tragic  in  their 
intensity,  and  powerfully  pictured." — Brooklyn  Times. 

"This  is  a  really  stirring  story,  full  of  wild  adventure,  yet  having  an  atmosphere 
of  historic  truthfulness,  and  conveying  incidentally  a  good  deal  of  inlormation  that  1> 
evidently  based  upon  fresh  study."— Times,  Philadelphia. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE  JEWEL  OF  YNYS  GALON 

BEING   A    HITHERTO    UNPRINTED   CHAPTER    IN 
THE   HISTORY  OF  THE  SEA   ROVERS. 

By  OWEN    RHOSCOMYL 


With  1  2  Illustrations  by  Lancelot  Speed. 
Crown  SvOj  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


'  The  tale  is  exceptionally  well  told  ,  the  descriptive  passages  are  strong  and  vlv' 
id  without  being  over-elaborated  ;  and  the  recital  of  fights  and  adventures  on  sea  and 
land  is  thrilling,  without  leading  to  any  excess  of  horrors.  The  characters  in  the  book 
are  not  all  villians,  but  the  progress  of  the  narrative  is  lighted  up  by  the  ideals  and 
strivings  of  brave  and  honorable  men.  The  book  is  certainly  a  most  attractive  addi- 
tion to  fiction  of  adventure,  for  it  shows  a  fine  degree  of  imagination  on  the  part  of  the 
author.  A  glance  at  the  illustrations  by  Lancelot  Speed  will  alone  be  enough  to  incite 
a  reading  of  the  story  from  beginning  to  end." — The  Beacon,  Boston. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  genius — of  the  romantic-realistic  school.  The  story  is  one  of 
pirates  and  buried  treasure  in  an  island  off  the  coast  of  Wales,  and  so  well  is  it  done 
that  it  fascinates  the  reader,  puttnig  him  under  an  hypnotic  spell,  lasting  long  after  the 
t30ok  has  been  laid  aside.  It  is  dedicated  to  'every  one  whose  blood  rouses  at  a  tale 
of  tall  f.ghts  and  reckless  adventure,'  to  men  and  boys  alike,  yet  there  will  be  keener 
appreciation  by  the  boys  of  larger  growth,  whose  dreams  '  of  buried  treasure  and  of 
one  day  discovering  some  hoard  whereby  to  become  rich  beyond  imagination  '  have 
become  dim  and  blurred  in  the  '  toil  and  struggle  for  subsistence.'  '  The  Jewel  of  Ynys 
Galon'  is  one  of  the  great  books  of  1895  and  will  live  long." — The  World,  New  York. 

"  It  is  a  splendid  story  of  the  sea,  of  battle  and  hidden  treasure.  This  picture  of 
the  times  of  the  sea  rovers  is  most  skillfully  drawn  in  transparent  and  simple  English, 
and  it  holds  from  cover  to  cover  the  absorbed  interest  of  the  reader." 

— Press,  Philadblphia. 

"  It  is  a  story  after  the  heart  of  both  man  and  boy.  There  are  no  dull  moments  in 
it,  and  we  find  ourselves  impatient  to  get  on,  so  anxious  are  we  to  see  what  the  next 
turn  in  the  events  is  to  bring  forth;  and  when  we  come  to  the  end  we  exclaim  in 
sorrow,  "  Is  that  all?  "  and  begin  to  turn  back  the  leaves  and  re-read  some  of  the  most 
exciting  incidents. 

Owen  Rhoscomyl  has  just  the  talents  for  writing  books  of  this  kind,  and  thev  are 
worth  a  dozen  of  some  of  the  books  of  to-day  where  life  flows  sluggishly  on  in  a  draw- 
ing-room.   When  the  author  writes  another  we  want  to  know  of  it." — Times,  Boston. 

"  The  style  of  this  thrilling  story  is  intensely  vivid  and  dramatic,  but  there  is 
nothing  in  it  of  the  cheap  sensational  order.  It  is  worthy  a  place  among  the  classics 
for  boys." — Advertiser,  Boston. 

"The  present  school  of  romantic  adventure  has  produced  no  more  strikingly  im- 
aginative story  than  this  weird  tale  of  Welsh  pirates  in  the  eighteenth  century.  .  .  . 
A  most  enthralling  tale,  .  .  .  told  with  great  artistic  finisn  and  with  intense  spirit. 
It  may  be  recommended  without  reserve  to  every  love'.'  of  this  class  of  fiction." 

— Times,  Philadelphia. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  of  its  kind  that  have  appeared  in  a  long  time.  .  .  . 
We  do  Bot  know  how  far  this  tale  may  be  taken  to  be  historical,  ana,  to  be  frank, 
we  don't  care.  If  these  things  did  not  happen,  thev  might  have  happened,  and  ought 
to  have  happened,  and  that  is  enough  for  us.  If  you  like  'Treasure  Island'  and 
'Kidnapped'  and  the  'White  Company'  and  'Francis  Cludde'  and  '  Lorna  Doone,' 
get  '  The  Jewel  of  Ynys  Galon  '  and  read  it.     You  will  not  be  disappointed." 

—Gazette,  Colorado  Springs,  Col. 

"  Our  own  interest  in  the  book  led  us  to  read  it  at  a  sitting  that  went  far  into  the 
night.  The  old  Berserker  spirit  is  considerably  abroad  in  these  pages,  and  the  blood 
coursed  the  faster  as  stirring  incident  followed  desperate  situation  ana  daring  enter* 
V)rise."— Literary  World,  London. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  TIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE   KING'S   RIVALS. 

AN  HISTORICAL  NOVEL  OF  THE  TIME  OF  CHARLES  IL 

By  E.   N.   BARRO^V. 

With    Frontispiece    by    W.    D.    Stevens. 
Crown    8vo,   Cloth,    Ornamental.       Price,    $i  25. 


The  book  ought  at  once  to  take  rank  as  one  of  the  notable  novels  of  the  year. 
Written  in  a  style  of  singular  purity  and  elegance,  it  exemplifies  the  highest  typcol 
historical  romance.  .  .  .  There  is  enough  of  incident  never  to  let  the  reader's 
attention  flag,  and  the  plot  is  worked  out  with  great  skill.  .  .  This  book  may  he 
safely  brought  into  the  family  circle,  and  put  into  the  hands  of  the  young.  We  bespeak 
for  it  a  large  and  delighted  circle  of  readers."— Livi.ng  Church,  Chicago. 

"This  is  an  unusualiy  charming  story,  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in  the  early 
colonial  limes,  and  shifts  from  the  colonies  to  London  and  back  again.  The  hero  is  a 
lad,  picked  up  at  sea.  ...  An  unusual  refinement  about  the  boy  leads  people  <» 
believe  him  the  scion  of  some  aristocratic  family.  .      .      He  goes,  finally,  Kick  fo 

England  to  claim  his  rights  and  through  some  curious  chance  becomes  the  King's 
Rival.    The  story  is  quaintly  and  beautifully  told."— New  Orlkans  Picavu.se. 

" .  .  .  Many  historical  personages  appear  on  the  stage,  among  them  Charles  II., 
Lady  Castlemaine  and  the  Duchess  of  Albemarle.  The  plot  is  good,  and  the  story  is 
well  worked  up  and  interesting.  At  the  very  least  Jie  author  deserves  a  captaincy  in 
Col.  Stanley  J.  Weyman's  regiment  of  romancers."— Exprkss,  Bukfalo.  N.  Y. 


A  LOVER'S  REVOLT. 

A    NOVEL    OF    THE    AMERICAN     REVOLUTION. 

By  J.  W.   DE  FOREST, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  OVKKLA.SD,"  "KATE  BEAIMONT,"  KTC,  KTC. 


With  Frontispiece  by  George  Varian 
Crown   8vo,   Cloth,  Ornamental.       Price,  $1.50 

"The  conscientious  care  with  which  he  records  history  and  native  types  will  give 
bis  books  a  value  somewhat  apart  from  the  amusement  to  be  got  out  of  them. 

—  NKW    \i>RK     IIMI-.S 

"Alovestory  with  a  military  setting,  and  a  very  readable  one  at  that.  .  .  . 
he  culls  enough  that  is  historicallv  true  to  clothe  with  interest  a  rather  straiiKe.  bwi 
not  unreal  orlmpossible,  drama  of  love.  The  characters  are  all  interesting,  and  the 
book  is  good  enough  to  diffuse  contentment  while  its  400  and  more  pages  are  under 
the  eyes." — Globe,  Boston. 

"A  truly  delightful  historical  novel  that  deserves  to  rank  in  •Hugh  Wviiik-s ' 
class."— Express,  Buffalo. 

"A  thrilling  story  of  the  Revolutionary  War      .      .     .     '»'' <:"' ""^JllJVnml  h.* 
decade  from  hil  erstwhile  prolific  pen       In  the    ong  *' ''"^^v-    ";^r\;':  ''^-J  "'   ra." 
gained  new  skill,  and  the  reader  recalls  for  e>"P''»''J^  «"''/''^^"^"''^"  ,  'for  a^  Amcri'  .  • 
of  Mr   W   D    Howells  for  all  De  Forest's  work.      Thank   Hea\cii   lor  an  Amff'Y' 
who  can  no  more  s?t  in  impartial  judgmetit  on  his  own   country  than  he  could  on  h. 

own  mother."— Pilot,  Boston. 

LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00,.  91-93  FIFTH  AVE..  NEW  TORK. 


THE    ARCHDEACON. 

A   STORY. 

By  Mrs.   L.   B.  WALFORD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  BABY'S  GRANDMOTHER,"  "  LEDDY  MARGET,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  Buckram  Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  ■  The  Archdeacon  '  is  a  keen,  wise,  charmingly  told  story  of  character,  conduct, 
and  love.  .  .  .  We  won't  anticipate  our  reader's  pleasure  by  setting  forth  the 
denouement.     It  is  enough  to  say  that  it  is  delightful." — New  York  Tribune. 

■'  It  is  such  a  pleasing  narrative  that  it  holds  the  reader's  attention  from  beginning 
to  end.  .  .  .  It  is  a  healthy,  wholesome  and  pleasing  story,  without  'problems' 
and  free  from  mawkish  sentimentality."— Evening  Post,  Chicago. 

"  The  story  is  in  every  way  to  be  commended  as  a  healthful,  wholesome  tale  of 
modern  English  life.   An  easy,  natural  atmosphere  pervades  the  whole  of  it." 

—Transcript,  Boston. 

"One  of  the  pleasant  English  stories,  always  sweet  and  pure,  and  full  of  heart 
interest,  that  Mrs.  Walford  knows  so  well  how  to  write.  In  this  one  the  hero  is  a 
brilliant  young  churchman  who  rises  high  in  his  profession,  but  grows  worldly  and 
cold,  and  loses  sight  of  the  high  ideals  with  which  he  set  out.  Love  for  a  women  who 
is  strong  enough  to  point  out  his  failings  to  him,  finally  restores  him  to  the  simple 
faith  of  his  youth."— Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

'  A  well-received  and  well-written  novel." — Plain  Dealer,  Cleveland,  Ohio. 


LEDDY    MARGET. 

By  Mrs.  L.  B.  WALFORD. 


Crown    8vo,    Buckram    Cloth,    $1,50. 


"  '  Leddy  Marget '  is  a  pathetic,  graceful,  amusing  and  winning  book,  and  it  will 
linger  in  the  memory  when  much  of  the  more  pretentious  fiction  of  its  day  is  for- 
gotten."—New  York  Tribune. 

"  Not  only  charming  for  its  simplicity  and  directness,  but  is  significant  for  the 
qualities  which  ditferentiate  it  from  the  stories  of  the  majority  of  this  lady's  sisterhood. 
,  .  .  Individual  and  sincere,  gracious  and  courteous,  there  never  was  a  more  lovable 
old  gentlewoman  than  Leddy  Marget."— Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

''There  is  little  that  can  be  said  about  this  story  ;  it  must  be  read,  for  its  charm 
cannot  be  reflected  in  a  review,  its  delicate  atmosphere  cannot  be  reproduced.  .  .  . 
Therefore  we  wish  to  advise  our  readers  to  give  an  hour  to  this  delightful  trifle  ;  and 
when  they  have  done  so  they  will  agree  with  us,  and  we  hope,  be  duly  grateful— to 
Mrs.  Walford  for  creating  Lady  Marget,  and  to  us  for  introducing  them  to  her." 

— Critic,  New  York. 

"  Altogether  this  is  a  delightfully  satisfying  book.  We  hope  it  may  be  widely 
read."— Living  Church,  Chicago. 

"  Although  Mrs.  Walford  has  written  many  novels  of  wider  plan,  she  has  written 
nothing  sweeter."— Public  Opinion,  New  York. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


FLOTSAM. 

THE    STUDY    OF    A    LIFE. 

By  henry  SETON   MERRIMAN. 

AUTHOR     OF      "with     edged     TOOLS,"      "THE     SOWERS,"     ETC. 

With    Frontispiece    and    Vignette    by    H.   G.    MASSEY. 
1  2mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  The  scene  of  this  thoroughl}- interesting  book  is  laid  at  the  time  of  the  Rreav 
Indian  mutiny  of  1857,  and  the  cliapters  devoted  to  that  terrible  episode  in  the  history 
of  English  rule  in  India  are  among  tlie  most  interesting  in  the  volume,  the  capture  of 
Delhi  in  particular  being  graphically  described." — Herald,  Oneonta,  N.  V. 

"  It  is  a  powerful  study." — Cinci.nnati  Co.mmercial  Gazette. 

"  One  of  the  strongest  novels  of  the  season." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  decidedly  a  novel  worth  reading." — New  Engla.nd  Magazine. 

"...  From  first  to  last  our  interest  in  the  dramatic  development  of  the  plot  is 
never  allowed  to  flag.  '  Flotsam '  will  amply  sustain  the  reputation  which  Mr. 
Merriman  has  won." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"  It  is  a  rather  stirring  story,  dealing  with  breezy  adventures  in  the  far  East,  and 
sketching  in  strong  outlines  some  very  engaging  phases  of  romance  in  India  not  down 
in  Mr.  Kipling's  note-books."— Independent,  New  York. 

"  It  is  a  novel  of  strong,  direct,  earnest  purpose,  which  begins  well  in  a  literary 
sense  and  ends  better."— Sun,  Baltimore. 

"  A  brilliant  gift  for  characterization  and  dramatic  effect  put  his  novels  amoiii; 
the  best  of  the  season  for  entertainment,  and,  to  no  small  extent,  for  instruction." 

—Dial,  Chicago. 

"  Mr.  Merriman  can  write  a  good  story  ;  he  proved  that  in  '  The  Sowers,'  and  he 
shows  it  anew  in  this.  .  .  .  The  story  is  a  strong  one  and  told  with  freshness  and 
simple  realism."— Current  Literature,  New  York. 

"  His  story  is  remarkably  well  told."— Herald,  Colu.mbia,  Mo. 

"  It  is  a  novel  written  with  a  purpose,  yet  it  is  entirely  free  from  preaching  or 
moralizing.  The  young  man,  Harry  Wylam,  whose  careei  from  childhood  to  the 
prime  of  manhood  is  described,  is  a  bright,  daring,  and  lovable  character,  who  starts 
with  every  promise  of  a  successful  life,  but  whose  weakness  of  will,  and  love  of 
pleasure,  wreck  his  bright  hopes  midway.  The  author  shows  unusual  skill  in  dealing 
with  a  subject  which  in  less  discreet  hands  might  have  been  an  excuse  for  morbidity." 

—Boston  Beacon. 

"  A  story  of  lively  and  romantic  incident.  .  .  .  His  story  is  remarkably  well 
told."— New  York  Sun. 

"The  story  is  full  of  vigorous  action    .    .    .    and  interesting." 

— PtjBLic  Opinion. 


LONGMANS.  GEEEN,  &  00,  91-93  FITTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  VIOLET. 

A  Novel. 
By   JULIA    MAGRUDER, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PRINCESS  SONIA,"  ETC. 


With   1  1  Illustrations  by  Charles  Dana  Gibson,    Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  Gilt  Top,  $  1 ,25. 

"Julia  Magruder  has  made  a  very  pretty  story  of  The  Violet  '—a  story  with  just 
those  touches  of  graceful  sentiment  that  are  sure  to  gratify  the  girl  reader.  ...  It 
is  a  pleasure  to  come  upon  a  romance  so  pure  in  motive,  so  rehned  in  sentiment,  and 
so  delicate  in  manner  .  .  .  and  the  book  has  an  added  charm  in  the  illustrations 
by  Charles  Dana  Gibson,  who  seems  to  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  text  to  a  nicety, 
aiid  to  have  interpreted  it  with  an  admirably  sympathetic  technique." 

—Beacon,  Boston. 

"Julia  Magruder  has  given  her  readers  a  charming  story  in  '  The  Violet ' — one  as 
sweet  and  simple  and  lovely  as  the  modest  flower  itself.  .  .  .  It  is  a  beautiful 
character  study,  breathing  forth  the  fragrance  of  womanly  sweetness  in  every  phrase. 
The  illustrations  by  Gibson  are  apt,  and  the  binding  and  make-up  of  the  book  appro- 
priately attractive."— Times,  Boston. 

"  Is  a  good,  wholesome  love  story.  The  plot  is  natural  and  the  characters  real. 
.  .  .  '  The  Violet '  is  a  study  which  the  reader  may  wish  could  have  been  pro- 
longed."—Eagle,  Brooklyn. 

"A  story  altogether  as  beautiful  and  inspiring  as  its  name  .  .  .  one  of  the 
most  charming  books  of  the  season,  as  it  is  an  old  fashioned  story  with  a  delicious  bit 
of  mystery  interwoven  with  the  romance  of  a  young  heroine  who,  though  poor,  pos- 
sesses every  grace  and  accomplishment." — Courier,  Boston. 

"  It  is  a  pure,  sweet  story,  with  a  fragrance  as  of  violets  clinging  to  it,  and  it  de- 
lightfully sets  forth  the  attributes  of  true  manhood  and  true  womanhood." 

—Home  Journal,  N.  Y, 


DOREEN. 

The  Story  of  a  Singer. 
By    EDNA    LYALL, 

author  OF  "  WK  I  wo,"  "DONOVAN,"  "THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  SLANDER,"  "  IN 
THE  GOLDEN  DAYS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  Buckram  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  .50. 

"  A  plot  which  has  original  life  and  vigor.  .  .  .  Altogether  a  good  novel,  and 
if  the  author  had  written  nothing  else  she  could  safely  rest  her  literary  reputation  on 
'  Dnreen.'  " — Public  Opinion,  N.  Y. 

"  Edna  Lyall's  .  .  .  new  story  ...  is  one  of  her  best.  It  has,  naturally, 
enough  of  tragedy  to  make  it  intensely  interesting  without  being  sensational  in  any 
offensive  sense.  The  heroine,  Doreen,  is  a  delightful  character,  sturdy,  strong,  lovable, 
womanly,  and  genuinely  Irish.  Miss  Bayly  is  a  conscientious  writer,  imbued  with 
deep  feeling,  a  high  purpose,  and  her  style  is  attractive  and  pure." 

— Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  a  very  clever  story  indeed,  and  skillfully  written." 

—New  Orleans  Picayune. 

"  This  is  ;ierhaps  one  of  the  best  of  Edna  Lyall's  clever  stories.  Doreen  is  a  young 
Irish  girl,  who  loves  her  native  land,  and  who  is  a  credit  to  her  race.  .  .  .  Inter- 
woven with  the  story  of  her  experience  and  of  her  love  for  a  young  Englishman  is  an 
intere  •■ting  account  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  Home  Rule  movement.  Miss  Lyall's 
book  IS  a  charming  tale,  and  will  not  fail  to  delight  every  one  who  reads  it.  The  girl 
Doreen  :s  a  beautiful  character." — Catholic  News. 


LOIfGHAUS,  GEEETSr,  &  00.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


WAYFARING    MEN. 

By    EDNA    LVALL, 

AUTHOK   or    "DONOVAN,"    "  \VH   TWO,"    "  DORBCN,"    ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50. 


I  ulll- 


"...  We  take  up  Edna  Lyall's  last  novel  .  .  .  with  high  expectations,  and 
we  are  not  disappointed.  Miss  Bayly  has  acquired  a  wonderful  insight  into  human  nature. 
and  this  last  production  of  her  pen  is  full  of  the  true  portrayals  of  life.  .  .  .  The  whole 
book  is  a  whiff  of  '  caller  air '  in  these  days  of  degenerate  fiction." 

— COM.MERCIAL   AUVEKTISEK,    NeW    VuKK. 

"  One  of  her  best  stories  It  has  all  the  qualities  which  have  won  her  popularity  in  the 
past." — Sentinel,  Milwaukee. 

"  A  well-written  and  vigorous  story." — Observer,  New  York. 

"  It  is  a  strong  story,  thoroughly  well  constructed,  .  .  .  with  the  characters  very 
skilfully  handled.  .  .  .  Altogether  the  story  is  far  above  the  ordinar>',  and  bids  fair  to 
be  one  of  the  most  successful  of  the  opening  season." — Co.m.mercial,   IUffalo. 

"  Edna  Lyall  .  .  .  has  added  another  excellent  volume  to  the  number  of  her  ro- 
mances. ...  It  sustains  the  reputation  of  the  author  for  vigorous  writing  and  graceful 
depicting  of  life,  both  in  the  peasant's  cabin  and  the  noble's  hall.'" 

— Observer,  Utica,  New  Yukk. 

"  Miss  Lyall's  novel  is  one  of  unflagging  interest,  written  in  that  ilcir,  viri!..-  ~tylc,  witli 
its  gentle  humor  and  dramatic  effectiveness,  that  readers  well  kn..  .■.  .     . 

On  many  pages  of  the  story  the  writer  reveals  her  sympathetic  . 
the  Irish.  '  Wayfaring  .Men  '  is  a  Uterarv  tonic  to  be  warmly  wcl' 
mended  as  an  antidote  to  much  of  the  unhealUiy,  morbid,  and  encrv.HiM.k;  h'  li   :i  .1  iKc  day. 

*  — Press,  I'liii^iiELrHiA. 

"  The  author  has  made  a  prettv  and  interesting  love-story,  ...  a  truthful  picture  uf 
modern  stage  life,  and  a  thoroughly  human  story  that  holds  the  interest  to  the  end." 

— ■rRlBL\\E.    CmICAIAJ. 

"  It  is  a  story  that  you  will  enjoy,  because  it  does  not  start  out  • 
than  five  hundred  pages,  only  to  wind  up  by  being  suppressed  1 
bright  story  of  modern  Hfe,    and  it  will  be  enjoyed  by  those  wh  ■ 

'  We  Two,"  and  other  books  by  this  author."— Ci.scinnati  Tribl.ne. 

"A  new  book  by  Edna  Lyall  is  sure  of  a  hearty  welcome.  '  Wayfaring  Men*  will  not 
disappoint  any  of  her  admirers.  It  has  many  of  the  characteristics  of  her  earlier  and  still 
popuiar  bwftks.  It  is  a  story  uf  theatrical  life,  with  which  the  author  show*  an  unusually 
extensive  and  sympathetic  acquaintance."— New  Orleans  ricAViNE. 

"  Characterized  by  the  same  charming  simplicity  of  stvic  and  realism  that  w..»  for 
'  Donovan'  and  '  Knight  Errant'  their  popularity.  .  .  .  Miss  Lyall  has  made  no  attempt 
to-  create  dramatic  situations,  though  it  is  so  largely  a  Uilc  of  stage  life,  but  has  dealt  with 
the  trials  and  struggles  of  an  actor's  career  with  an  insight  and  dehcacy  that  arc  truly  pleas- 
ing."— The  Argo.nal'T,  San  Francisco. 

"  Is  a  straightforward,   interesting  story,   in   which    people    ;i' 
much  to  do.      The  hero  is  an  actor,  young  and  guod.  and  ihc  her 
ines  are  sure  to  be— is  a  real  woman,  winning  and  lovable.       I  I. 
the  book  to  please  romance-lovers,  and  there  are  no  probl-- 
love  a  story  for  the  story's  sake.     It  will  not  disappoint   i 
have  learned  to  look  forward  with  impatient  expectation  i  . 

'next  novel'     '  Wayfaring  Men'  is  sure  of  a  wide  and  a  saiiihcJ  iwuUi:i>;." 

'  — Wo.ma.\kiso,  bPKiNcriitU),  Omiu. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  riTTH  AVE..  NEW  YORK. 


HOPE    THE    HERMIT 

A   ROMANCE  OF  BORROWDALE. 
By  EDNA  LYALL, 

AUTHOR    OF    "  DOREEN,"  "WAYFARING   MEN,"  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50. 


"When  Edna  Lyall  wrote  this  book  she  stepped  into  the  front  ranli  of  living  novelists. 
It  exemplifies  the  finest  type  of  historical  romance,  which  is,  of  course,  the  highest  form  of 
lictious  literature.  The  scene  of  the  story  is  one  of  the  loveliest  which  could  have  been 
chosen,  the  lake  region  of  England.  .  .  .  Her  story  is  full  of  life  and  incident,  and  at 
the  same  time  conveys  lessons  of  high  morality.  .  .  .  Altogether  this  is  one  of  the 
liealthiest,  purest,  best,  and  most  powerful  romances  in  the  whole  range  of  English 
literature." — Living  Church,  Chicago. 

"Miss  Bayly  .  .  .  by  careful  e.xamination  of  her  authorities  has  been  able  to  con- 
struct an  uncommonly  good  romance  of  the  days  when  brother's  hand  was  against  brother. 
It  is  distinctly  good  work — a  stirring  story  and  in  every  way  creditable  to  the  author." 

— Public  Opinion,  New  York. 

"  The  characters  are  well  drawn,  never  mere  puppets.  There  is  a  coherent,  well- 
thought-out,  and  carefully  developed  plot,  and  the  style  is  clear  and  straightforward.  The 
story  is  wholesome  and  interesting,  and  much  better  worth  reading  than  a  good  many  of 
the  so-called  '  stories  of  adventure.'  " — Beacon,  Boston. 

"  There  are  few  novelists  of  the  present  day  whose  writings  are  better  known  and  liked 
than  those  of  Edna  Lyall.  They  are  always  clean,  pure  and  wholesome,  and  delightful  read- 
ing. The  latest,  '  Hope  the  Hermit,'  deals  with  her  favorite  period,  the  seventeenth  century. 
We  have  the  revolution,  the  accession  of  William  and  Mary,  and  the  Jacobite  plots,  and 
among  the  real  characters  introduced  are  Archbishop  Tillotson,  Lady  Temple  and  George 
Fox,  the  Quaker.  .  .  .  'I'he  story  ends  as  all  love  stories  should,  to  be  perfectly  satisfactory 
to  the  average  novel  reader,  and  '  Hope  the  Hermit '  will  find  many  readers,  who  are  fond 
of  a  good  story  well  told.'' — Advertiser,  Portland,  Me. 

"  She  is  quite  at  home  with  her  theme.  .  .  .  It  is  a  fine  historical  novel,  admirably 
written,  and  one  of  her  best  books." — Literary  World,  Boston. 

"...  is  one  of  those  delightful  stories  that  have  made  the  author  very  popular 
and  that  one  can  take  up  with  the  absolute  certainty  of  finding  nothing  unclean  or  repel- 
lent. It  is  a  clear,  strong,  well-designed,  refreshing  story,  based  upon  scenes  and  events 
in  the  days  of  William  and  Mary  of  England — days  when  a  man  could  hardly  trust  his  own 
brother,  and  when  sons  were  on  one  side  in  a  rebellion,  and  the  father  on  the  other.  .  .  . 
Many  of  the  situations  are  very  exciting,  the  characters  are  admirably  drawn,  and  the  whole 
telling  of  the  story  is  entertaining,  grateful  and  artistic.  We  regard  it  as  quite  as  good  as 
'  Donovan,' and  the  other  popular  stories  by  the  same  author." — Buffalo  Commercial. 

"  Miss  Bayly  has  kept  her  pages  clean  and  white.  The  book  is  preeminently  suitable 
to  the  shelves  of  a  circulating  library,  as  well  as  to  the  reading-table  under  tjie  family  lamp. 
It  not  only  entertains,  but  gives  historical  data  in  a  pleasantly  impressive  manner  .  .  . 
we  have,  notwithstanding  a  few  extravagances,  a  very  fascinating  story,  enlivened  by  the 
admitted  license  of  the  wTiter  of  romance." — Home  Journal,  New  York. 

"  This  latest  work  of  Miss  Bayly  has  all  the  qualities  which  have  won  her  popularity  in 
the  past.  The  book  should  have  a  considerable  vogue,  appealing,  as  it  does,  not  only  to 
those  who  like  quick  action,  plenty  of  adventure,  and  much  picturesqueness,  but  also  to 
those  who  have  a  cultivated  literary  palate." — Dispatch,  Richmond,  Va. 

"...  is  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  Edna  Lyall's  talent  for  telling  a  good  story 
in  engaging  style.     .     .     .     The  reader's  attention  is  held  throughout." 

— Press,  Philadelphia. 

"There  is  much  in  this  book  to  commend  it.  It  is  original  and  has  great  activity. 
.  .  .  Miss  Lyall  possesses  literary  talent,  and  her  style  is  clear,  and,  to  one  unfamiliar 
with  her  writings,  this  latest  production  will  be  a  delightful  treat.  The  reader  will  put  it 
down  delighted  with  the  story,  refreshed  by  the  study  of  the  merits  and  faults  of  its  charac« 
ters,  and  cogitating  upon  the  great  events  which,  during  the  making  of  English  history, 
followed  quickly  one  upon  another  toward  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century." 

— Picayune,  New  Orleans. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE,  NEW  TOEK. 


THE    PRINCESS   DESIREE 

A    ROMANCE 
By  CLEMENTINA  BLACK 

AUTHOR  OF  "an  AGITATOR,"  "  MISS  FALKLAND,"  ETC. 


With  8  Full-page  Illustrations  by  John  Williamson 
l2mo,  Linen  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25 

"The  reader  who  begins  this  very  fascinating  tale  will  feel  bound  to  finish  it.  . 
.  .  .  The  story  runs  naturally  in  a  highly  romantic  vein.  It  is,  however,  so  brightly 
and  choicely  written  and  is  so  interestiTig  throughout,  as  to  be  to  the  reader  a  source 
of  real  delight."— Aberdeen  Daily  Fuee  Press. 

"  Miss  Black  may  be  congratulated  on  achieving  a  distinct  success  and  furnishing 
a  thoroughly  enjoyable  tale.   — Athen.el.m,  London. 

"  Is  a  romantic  story  of  the  adventures  of  the  heiress  to  a  pretty  German  princi- 
pality.   It  has  a  pure  love  story,  and  is  written  with  spirit."— Outlook,  New  York. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  intrigue  and  royal  family  affairs,  and  those  who  love  a  his- 
torical novel  will  enjoy  this  one.  It  has  the  air  of  being  founded  on  facts." — Com- 
mercial Tribune,  Cincinn.vti. 

"  Once  in  a  while  there  appears  a  novel  that,  without  manifesting  any  special 
originality,  yet  leaves  with  its  reader  a  sense  of  satisfaction  that  many  more  im- 
portant works  fail  to  give.  Such  a  story  is  the  "  Princess  Dcsircc.  — Bt  kfalo 
Express. 

"The  story  is  thoroughly  satisfactory,  it  contains  little  sentiment  but  many  inter- 
esting situations,  and  much  forceful  action.  It  is  told  with  a  directness  that  attracts 
in  these  busy  days  and  is  an  admirable  picture  of  French  and  German  intrigue.  It  is 
well  illustrated  and  bound."— Boston  Ti.mes. 

"This  readable  novel may.be  read  at  a  sitting  with  unflagging  In- 
terest."— Public  Ledger,  Philadelphia. 

"  The  plot  is  exceedingly  well  managed,  in  spite  of  its  demands  upon  the  credulitv 
of  the  reader,  and  the  author's  style  is  terse,  clear  cut,  and  piquant.  The  eight  full- 
page  illustrations  by  John  Williamson  are  cleverly  done." — Boston  Beacon. 

"A  brightly  written  story,  full  of  unusual  adventure  of  a  quasi-poliiii-.il  n:uiirr, 
.     .     .     Is  entertaining  reading  throughout." — Press,  Philadelphia. 

"A  vivacious  novel." — Public  Opinion,  New  York. 

"  It  is  amusing  in  the  picture  it  gives  of  the  sudden  change  of  an  ardent  RipuMi- 
can,  through  love  for  one  of  the  royal  race,  to  a  Monarchist.  There  is  a  pleasant 
freshness  of  tone  about  it,  and  Ludovic  De  Sainte  is  quite  as  worthy  of  tlie  Gnind 
Duchess  of  Felsenheim  as  was  Rudolph  of  the  Princess  Fluvia.  The  political  intrigue 
is  simple  yet  very  exciting  and  elfe  ive.  There  is  no  effort  at  high  tragedy,  hut  the 
plot  is  simply  and  skillfully  developed  and  holds  i  iterest  well.  .  .  .  Altogether,  it 
IS  a  brave  story,  and  you  will  like  to  read  it." — Nassau  Literarv  Maga/inb,  FmNC«- 
TON,  N.  J. 

"The  Princess  Ddsirde    ....    will  win  universal  praise.     It  is  cue  'i"  ilie 
most  charming  love  stories  that  have  been  published  of  late  years,  pure  an  ' 
reminding  us,  but  by  no  means  as  a  servile  imitation,  of  another  lady.  : 
'Princess  Osra'   whose  heart,  or   want   of  heart,   was  so  ably  dcscri 
Anthony  Hope.   —Star,  Montreal. 

"  Except  that  i!'.ere  is  nothing  in  it  that  is  either  supernatural  or  essentially  im- 
probable, it  has  much  of  the  charm  of  a  fairy  tale.  The  stvlc  is  pure  and  the  story 
dramatic  with  the  additional  attraction  of  eight  or  ten  well  executed  illustrations.— 
San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  There  is  enough  exciting  interest  in  '  The  Princess  D^irdc  *  to  make  one  wish 

to  read  it  through  as  soon  as  possible There  is  an  undesirable  charm  In 

the  narrative." — New  York  Co.mmercial  Advertiser. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  CO.,  91-03  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 


JOAN   HASTE. 

A  NOVEL. 

By  II.  RIUER  HAGGARD, 

AUTHOR   OF    "'she,"    '' HF.ART   OF  THF.   WORLD,"    "THE    PEOPLE   OF   THE    MIST,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


With  20  full-page   Illustrations  by  F.  S.  Wilson. 
12mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  It  is  less  adventurous  in  theme,  the  tone  is  more  quiet,  and  the  manner  more 
in  keeping  with  the  so-called  realistic  order  of  fiction  than  anything-  Mr.  Haggard  has 
heretofore  published.  '  Joan  Haste  '  is  by  far  the  most  earnest,  and  in  many  ways  the 
most  impressive  work  of  Mr.  Haggard's  that  has  yet  been  printed.  The  insight  into 
character  which  it  displays  is  almost  invariably  keen  and  irae.  Every  personality  in 
the  story  is  fully  alive,  and  individual  traits  of  thought  and  action  are  revealed  little 
by  little  as  the  narrative  progresses,  until  they  stand  forth  as  definite  and  consistent 
creations." — The  Boston  Be.\con. 

"  All  the  strong  and  striking  peculiarities  that  have  made  Mr.  Haggard's  earlier 
works  so  deservedly  popular  are  repeated  here  in  a  new  spirit.  Not  only  that,  but 
his  literary  execution  shows  an  enlarged  skill  and  betrays  the  master  hand  of  self- 
restrairkt  that  indicate  maturity  of  power.  His  conception  of  character  is  improved  by 
the  elimination  of  all  crudeness  and  haste,  and  his  delineations  are  consequently  closer 
to  life.  One  is  reminded  strongly  of  Dickens  in  his  admirable  drawing  of  minor  char- 
acters. Mrs.  Bird  is  such  a  character.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  of  the  book  are  nu- 
merous and  strikingly  good.  Many  of  the  scenes  are  intensely  dramatic,  and  move  the 
feelings  to  the  higher  pitch.  .  .  .  Even  in  the  little  concerns  of  the  story  the  wealth 
of  its  imagination  appears,  glowing  in  the  warmth  of  its  unstinted  creations.  There  is 
a  splendor  in  his  description,  a  weird  spirit  in  his  imagery,  a  marvelous  variety  of 
detail,  and  at  all  points  a  creative  force  that  give  a  perpetual  freshness  and  newness  to 
the  fiction  to  which  he  gives  his  powers.  To  take  up  one  of  his  fascinating  books  is 
to  finish  it.  and  this  story  of  "  Joan  Haste  '  is  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  best  of  them  all. 
The  strength,  emphasis,  and  vigor  of  his  style  as  well  as  of  his  treatment  is  to  be 
credited  to  none  but  superior  gifts  and  powers.  ,  .  .  '  Joan  Haste '  will  become 
the  favorite  of  everybody." — Boston  Courier. 

"  Mr.  Haggard's  new  story  is  a  sound  and  pleasing  example  of  modern  English 
fiction  ...  a  book  worth  reading.  ...  Its  personages  are  many  and  well 
contrasted,  and  all  reasonably  human  and  interesting." — New  York  Times. 

"  In  this  pretty,  pathetic  story  Mr.  Haggard  has  lost  none  of  his  true  art.  .  .  . 
In  every  respect  'Joan  Haste'  contains  masterly  literary  work  of  which  Mr.  Haggard 
has  been  deemed  incapable  by  some  of  his  forriier  critics.  Certainly  no  one  will  call 
his  latest  book  weak  or  uninteresting,  while  thousands  who  enjoy  a  well-told  story  of 
tragic,  but  true  love,  will  pronounce  'Joan  Haste'  a  better  piece  of  work  than  Mr. 
Haggard's  stories  of  adventure." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  This  story  is  full  of  startling  incidents.     It  is  intensely  interesting." 

— Cleveland  Gazette. 

"  The  plot  thickens  with  the  growth  of  the  story,  which  is  one  of  uncommon  interest 
and  pathos.     The  book  has  the  advantage  of  the  original  illustrations." 

— Cleveland  World. 

'"Joan  Haste'  is  really  a  good  deal  more  than  the  ordinary  novel  of  English 
country  life.  It  is  the  best  thing  Haggard  has  done.  There  is  some  character  sketch- 
ing in  it  that  is  equal  to  anything  of  this  kind  we  have  had  recently." 

— Courier,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

"  In  this  unwonted  field  he  has  done  well.  'Joan  Haste  '  is  so  far  ahead  of  his  for- 
mer works  that  it  will  surprise  even  those  who  have  had  most  confidence  in  his  ability. 

To  those  who  read  Thomas  Hardy's  '  Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles  '  the  atmosphere 
and  incidents  of  'Joan  Haste  '  will  seem  familiar.  It  is  written  along  much  the  same 
lines,  and  in  this  particular  it  might  be  accused  of  a  lack  of  originality ;  but  Haggard 
ha'^come  dangerously  close  to  beating  Hardy  in  his  own  field.  Hardy's  coarseness  is 
missing,  but  Hardy's  power  is  excelled." — Munsev's  Magazine. 


LOIJGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  CO..  91-93  PIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEE. 


HEART   OF  THE   WORLD- 

a  story  of   mexican   adventure. 
By  H.  rider  haggard, 

MTTHOR  OF   '*  SHE,"   "moNTEZUMVs    DAUGHTER,"    "tHK    FBOPLU   OF  THK   MIST,"   «TC. 


With  13  fuM-pagre   Illustrations  by  Amy  Sawyer 
12mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  The  adventures  of  Ignnfio  and  his  white  friend  will  compare  fir  strangeness  with  iny 
that  the  writer  has  iniaginf-d.  And  the  invention  of  the  city  and  p'.ov'.e  of  the  htarl.  of  the 
secret  order,  with  its  ritual  and  history,  and  the  unforeseen  crisis  ol  the  lale,  shows  that  the 
quality  that  most  distinguishes  the  aulhor's  former  works  is  still  his  in  ahiindnnce.  .  .  . 
The  tale  as  a  whole  is  so  effective  that  we  willingly  overlook  its  imfrobabdity,  and  so  ni'Vel 
that  even  those  who  have  read  all  of  Rider  Haggard's  former  works  will  still  find  somethnig 
surprismg  in  this." — The  Ckitic. 

"  Here  are  strange  adventures  and  wonderful  heroisms.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Mexico. 
The  story  rehearses  the  adventures  of  an  athletic  Englishman  who  loves  and  weds  an 
Indian  princess.  There  are  marvelous  descriptions  of  the  '  City  of  the  Heart,'  a  mysteri- 
ous town  hemmed  in  by  swamps  and  unknown  mountains." 

— COMMEKCIAL   ADVERTISER,    Nkw    YokK. 

"  Has  a  rare  fascination,  and  in  using  that  theme  Mr.  Haggard  has  not  only  hit  upon 
a  story  of  peculiar  charm,  but  he  has  also  wrought  out  a  story  original  and  dilishtful  10 
even  the  most  jaded  reader  of  the  novel  of  incident." — Advf.ktiskk,  Boston. 

"It  is  a  fascinating  tale,  and  the  reader  will  not  want  to  put  the  book  down  till  he  hat 

read  the  last  word." — Picayune,  New  Okleans. 

"  The  lovers  of  Rider  Haggard's  glowing  works  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  hit  latest 
book.  .  .  .  The  story  is,  all  in  all,  one  of  the  most  entertaining  of  the  author's  whole 
list." — Travrllkr,  Hoston. 

"  In  its  splendor  of  description,  weirdncss  of  imagery,  its  astonishing  variety  of  detail. 
and  the  love  story  which  blends  with  history  and  fantasy,  the  book  without  doubt  is  a 
creation  distinct  from  previous  tales.  Maya,  the  I.ady  of  the  Heart,  is  an  ideal  character. 
.    .     .     Interest  is  sustained  throughout." — Post,  Chicago. 

"The  success  of  Mr.  Haggard's  stories  consists  in  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  nin» 
through  them,  in  their  rapid  succession  of  incidents,  in  the  bustle  which  animates  their 
characters,  and  in  the  trying  situations  in  which  they  are  pl.iced.  ...  this  last  Hory 
.  .  .  introduces  his  readers  ...  to  a  comparatively  new  field  of  fiction  in  the  evolu- 
tion of  an  ancient  Aztec  tradition  concerning  the  concealed  (.xistcnce  of  a  wonderful  Golden 
City.     .     .     ." — Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"A  thrilling  story  of  adventure  in  Mexico.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  has  surpas-ed  in  vivid 
coloring  his  delineation  of  the  character  of 'Maya.'  This  work  is  really  a  notable  addition 
to  the  great  body  of  romance  with  which  his  name  is  associated." — Prhss  Phh.adhV»HIa. 

"  This  romance  is  really  one  of  the  best  he  has  given  us."— Times,   Philapf.i  ruiA. 

"  When  the  love  of  romance  shall  die  in  the  human  heart  we  may  bid  farewell  to  all  that 
is  best  in  fiction.  ...  In  this  story  we  have  the  same  reckless  dash  of  imaisination  and 
the  same  gorgeous  profusion  of  barbaric  scenes  and  startling  adventure  which  have  always 
characterized  Mr.  Haggard's  works.'  — Indi:phnurnt,  Nhw  Yokk. 

"  His  latest,  and  one  of  his  most  powerful  stories.  It  shows  the  same  trenchant.  eflTctlive 
way  of  dealing  with  his  story  ;  and  the  same  power  in  open,  startling  siltialion*.  It  wdl 
jive  the  reader  some  new  idea  of  that  ancient  people,  the  Aztecs,  as  well  as  of  ih*  more  mod- 
am  Mexicans.     It  is  as  strong  as  '  King  Solomon's  Mines.' ''  —  TiMis.  HakikoKk. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  PIETH  AVE.,  NEW  YOKI. 


SWALLOW 


A    STORY    OF    THE    GREAT    TREK 
By  H.    rider  haggard 

AUTHOR  OF  "she,"  "  KING  SOLOMOn's  MINES,"  "  JOAN  HASTE,"  "  THE  WIZARD,"  ETC,  ETC 


With  12  full-page  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1.50 

"  The  hand  of  the  author  of  '  She  '  has  not  lost  its  cunning.  Indeed,  we  think  it 
will  be  the  verdict  of  most  readers  of  'Swallow  '  that,  great  as  Conan  Doyle  and 
Stanley  Weyman  are  in  the  field  of  romance,  in  the  art  of  sheer,  unadulterated  story- 
telling. Rider  Haggard  is  the  master  of  them  all.  'Swallow 'is  an  African  story,  a 
tale  of  the  Boers  and  Kaffirs  and  Zulus,  and  it  grips  the  attention  of  the  reader  from 
the  very  beginning  and  holds  it  steadily  to  the  end.  The  tale  is  told  by  an  old  Boer 
woman,  '  the  Vrouw  Botmar,'  and  it  is  a  masterpiece  of  narration.  .  .  .  The  finest 
portrait  of  all  is  that  of  the  little  Kaffir  witch  doctoress,  Sihamba,  who  will  live  in  the 
reader's  memory  long  after  he  has  closed  the  book,  and  who  is  a  worthy  companion  of 
the  great  Umslopogaas  himself.    Altogether  '  Swallow '  is  a  remarkable  romance." 

— Charleston  News. 

"  It  is  a  slashing,  dashing  .  .  .  romance  of  Boers  and  Kaffirs  in  South  Africa  that 
Rider  Haggard  has  given  his  admirers  under  the  title,  '  Swallow.'  The  title  is  the  Kaffir 
name  for  the  charming  Boer  maiden,  Suzanne  Boimar.     .     .  'Swallow'  is  one  of 

those  utterly  impossible  and  yet  altogether  engrossing  tales  that  Rider  Haggard  knows 
so  well  how  to  weave.  He  is  always  at  best  among  the  kloofs  and  kopjes  of  South 
Africa,  and  his  many  admirers  will  be  delighted  to  know  that  he  has  returned  to  the 
field  of  his  early  successes." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  Englishman's  long  pursuit  of  his  bride  ;  the  manner  in  which  she  escaped 
from  Swart  Piet  only  to  encounter  as  great  perils  in  her  wanderings,  and  how  she 
dwelt  among  savages  for  two  years,  with  Sihamba,  the  little  witch  doctoress  and  ruler 
of  the  Tribe  of  the  Mountains,  gives  Mr.  Haggarci  ample  opportunity  to  display  his 
ingenuity  as  a  plot-maker,  and  illustrates  his  wonderlul  powers  of  dramatic  narration. 
The  story  is  crowded  with  incident  leading  up  to  the  tiagic  encounter  on  the  cliff 
between  Ralph  and  Swart  Piet  and  the  torture  and  death  of  Sihamba.  I.overs  of  the 
wild  and  adventurous,  subtly  touched  with  the  supernatural,  will  find  'Swallow' 
quite  to  their  liking." —Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  A  thrilling  tale,  brimming  over  with  adventure,  and  full  of  the  savage  loves  and 
hates  and  fightings  of  uncivilized  peoples.  ...  In  such  stories  of  wild  adventure 
Rider  Haggard  has  no  equal,  and  '  Swallow  '  will  be  read  with  the  unflagging  interest 
we  have  given  to  the  author's  other  romances." — Picayune,  New  Orleans,  La. 

"  It  is  justly  considered  one  of  the  very  best  of  this  author's  productions.  ...  It 
is  unquestionably  a  very  entertaining  story  of  Boer  life." — Hartford  Post. 

"  A  story,  which  once  begun,  must  be  read  to  the  end.'' — New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  interest  grows  as  one  goes  on,  and  at  the  close  it  is  at  least  an  open  question 
whether  he  has  ever  done  a  better  piece  of  work.  ...  it  may  safely  be  said  that 
few  who  begin  the  story  will  fail  to  read  on  with  growing  interest  to  the  end,  and  that 
most  will  part  from  the  characters  with  genuine  regret."— Hartfoud  Times. 

"  One  of  the  things  Rider  Haggard  Can  always  contrive  to  do  is  to  tell  a  thrilling 
tale,  to  keep  his  readers  trembling  on  the  verge  of  discovery  or  torn  with  anxiety  until 
the  very  last  line  of  the  book.  His  happy  hunting-ground  is  South  Africa,  and  there  is 
located  '  Swallow,' than  which  few  of  his  romances  have  been  better  reading.  We 
find  it  preferable,  for  our  own  part,  to  such  an  extravaganza  as  'She,'  since  it  deals 
with  people  in  whom  it  is  possible  to  take  a  more  definite  interest  than  in  savages  oi 
magicians.     .     .     .     A  thrilling  and  unusual  story."— Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"  Once  more  the  African  wizard  has  waved  his  enchanted  wand  and  conjured  out 
of  the  mysterious  Dark  Continent  another  fascinating  romance.  ...  It  is  ques- 
tionable if  the  author  has  ever  produced  a  story  in  all  respects  better  than  this." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  riPTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'AURIAC. 

A  ROMANCE. 
By    S.    LEVETT   YEATS. 

AUTHOR   OF    "the    HONOUR   OF   SAVKLLI,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


1  2mo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  The  story  is  full  of  action,  it  is  alive  from  cover  to  cover,  and  is  so  compact  with  thrill- 
ing adventure  that  there  is  no  room  for  a  dull  page.  The  chevalier  tells  his  own  story,  but 
he  is  the  most  charming  of  egoists.  He  wins  our  sympathies  from  the  outset  by  his  boyish 
naivete,  his  downright  manliness  and  bravery.  .  .  .  Not  only  has  Mr.  Yeats  written  an 
ejccellent  tale  of  adventure,  but  he  has  shown  a  close  study  of  character  which  does  not  bor- 
row merely  from  the  trappings  of  historical  actors,  but  which  denotes  a  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  a  shrewd  insight  into  the  workings  of  human  motives.  .  .  .  The 
fashion  of  the  period  is  kept  well  in  mind,  the  stvle  of  writing  has  just  that  touch  of  old- 
fashioned  formality  which  serves  to  veil  the  past  from  the  present,  and  to  throw  the  lights 
and  shadows  into  a  harmony  of  tone.  .  .  .  The  work  has  liierarj-  quality  of  a  genuine 
sort  in  it,  which  raises  it  above  a  numerous  host  of  its  fellows  in  kind. 

—  BooK.MAN,  New  York. 

"...  A  story  of  Huguenot  days,  brim  full  of  action  that  takes  shape  in  plots,  sud. 
den  surprises,  fierce  encounters,  and  cunning  intrigues.  The  author  is  so  saturated  with  the 
times  of  which  he  writes  that  the  story  is  realism  itself.  .  .  .  The  slor>'  is  brilliant  and 
thrilling,  and  whoever  sits  down  to  give  it  attention  will  reach  the  last  page  with  regret." 

— Gloue,  Bosto.n. 

"...  A  tale  of  more  than  usual  interest  and  of  genuine  liter.-ry  merit  .  .  . 
The  characters  and  scenes  in  a  sense  seem  far  removed,  yet  they  live  in  our  hearts  and  seem 
contemporaneous  through  the  skill  and  philosophic  treatment  of  the  author.  Those  men  and 
women  seem  akin  to  us;  they  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  are  impelled  by  human  nKitive«ias  we 
are.     One  cannot  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  hero  without  fcelmg  refreshed  and  bencfiicd." 

— Globe-Democrat,  St.   Loiis. 

"A  book  that  may  be  recommended  to  all  those  who  appreciate  a  good,  hearty,  rollicking 
story  of  adventure,  with  lots  of  fierce  fighting  and  a  proper  proportion  of  love-making.  .  .  . 
There  is  in  his  novel  no  more  history  than  is  necessary,  and  no  tedious  detail ;  it  is  a  story 
inspired  by,  but  not  slavishly  followmg,  history.  .  .  .  The  book  is  full  of  incident,  and 
from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  the  action  never  flags.  ...  In  the  Chevalier  the  authur 
has  conceived  a  sympathetic  character,  for  d'Auriac  is  more  human  and  less  of  a  puppet  than 
most  heroes  of  historical  novels,  and  consequently  there  are  few  readers  who  will  nut  find  en- 
joyment in  the  story  of  his  thrilling  adventures.  .  .  .  This  Ixiok  should  be  read  by  all 
who  love  a  good  story  of  adventures.     There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it." — New  York  Sun. 

"A  capital  story  of  the  Dumas- Weyman  order.  .  .  .  The  first  chapters  bring  one 
right  into  the  thick  of  the  ston%  and  from  thence  on  the  interest  is  unflagging.  The  Cheva- 
lier himself  is  an  admirably  'studied  character,  whose  slraigliifurwardness  and  sitnplicity, 
bravery,  and  impulsive  and  reckless  chivalry,  win  the  reader's  svinpathy.  D'Auriac  has 
something  of  the  intense  vitality  of  Dumas's  heroes,  and  the  delightful  Iniprubabililie*  through 
which  he  passes  so  invincibly  have  a  certain  human  quality  which  renders  them  nkin  to  our 
day.     Mr.  Levett  Yeats  has  done  better  in  this  book  than  ui  anything  else  he  has  written." 

— PlCAVLNE,    Nl  W   DkI.KANS. 

"  The  interest  in  the  story  does  not  la^  for  an  instant ;  all  is  life  and  action.  The  pict- 
uresque historical  setting  is  admirably  pamted,  and  the  ch.iracters  are  skilfully  drawn,  cspc- 
lially  that  of  the  king,  a  true  monarch,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  gentleman.  '1  he  Chcvahcr  u 
the  typical  hero  of  romance,  fearing  nothing  save  a  stain  on  his  honor,  and  with  such  a  hero 
there  can  not  but  be  vigor  and  excitement  in  cvcr>'  page  of  the  stury." 

—Mail  and  P-xpress,  New  \  ork. 

"  As  a  story  of  adventure,  pure  and  simple,  after  the  type  originally  seen  in  Duroat  % 
'Three  Musketeers,"  the  book  is  well  worthy  of  high  praise.'  — C)iil(K)K,  New  York. 

"  We  find  all  the  fascination  of  medieval  France,  which  have  made  Mr.  Wcyman'-i  »toric» 
such  general  favorites.  ...  We  do  not  see  how  any  intelligent  reader  can  take  il  up 
without  keen  enjoyment."— Living  Church,  Chicago. 


LONGMATJS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOEK. 


THE  HEART  OF  DENISE 

and  other  tales. 
By  S.  LEVETT-YEATS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  CHEVALIER  d'aURIAC,"   "  THE  HONOUR  OF  SAVEI.LI,"  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25. 


"The  author  of  the  fascinating;  and  brilliant  story  of  'The  Chevalier  d'Auriac' 
knows  the  main  roads  and  bypaths  of  the  sixteenth  century  well,  and  in  his  latest 
essay  in  romance  he  catclies  the  spirit  of  the  times  he  portrays.  With  a  few  sugges- 
tive touches  a  brilliant,  somewhat  self-willed  beauty  of  the  court  is  sketched  inDenise, 
whose  flirtations,  innocent  enough  upon  her  part,  with  the  young  but  unscrupulous 
Marquis  de  Clermont,  lead  to  a  peremptory  command  on  the  part  of  the  King  for  her 
marriage,  at  three  hours'  notice,  to  Blaise  de  Lorgnac.     .     .     . 

The  story  which  gives  the  title  to  the  book  occupies  something  over  a  third  of  the 
volume.  The  remainder  is  a  collection  oi  eight  short  stories,  most  of  which  are  some- 
what melodramatic  in  character,  but  all  are  brilliantly  told," 

— Chicago  Tribune. 

"A  good  romantic  story,  graphically  told." 

—New  York  World. 

"A  brief,  rapid  story  of  those  picturesque  days  when  the  Flying  Squadron  fluttered 
its  silken  sails  at  the  gay  French  court  of  which  Catherine  de  Medici  was  the  ruling 
spirit— such  is  'The  Heart  of  Denise,'  which  may  be  praised  as  more  in  the  style  of 
'The  House  of  the  Wolf  or  'A  Gentleman  of  France  '  than  anything  Mr.  Weyman  is 
writing  nowadays."  — Sentinel,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

"A  capital  love  story.  .  .  .  It  is  a  pleasant  story  most  pleasantly  told.  The 
other  stories  in  the  book  are  of  equal  interest  ;  they  are  told  with  admirable  skill  and 
most  excellent  art."  — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

"  We  find  more  varieties  of  talent  than  we  remember  in  his  earlier  novels.  '  The 
Chevalier  d'Auriac  '  and  'The  Honour  of  Savelli,'  '  The  Heart  of  Denise  '  and  'The 
Captain  Moratti's  Last  Affair'  resemble  these  in  the  romantic  use  of  the  historical 
material  of  which  they  are  composed  ;  the  other  seven  display  a  wider  range  of  in- 
vention in  different  directions.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  stories  here  are  considerably 
above  the  average  stories  of  better-known  writers  than  Mr.  Yeats." 

— Mail  and  Express. 

"  All  of  them  are  bright,  crisp  and  taking — generally  weird  and  fanciful,  but  told 
with  an  easy  and  fluent  swing  which  imparts  a  pleasant  flavor  to  the  most  inconse- 
quential of  their  details."  —  San  Francisco  Chroniclb. 

"There  are  many  well-told  adventures  ....  with  a  defined  originality  and 
manner."  ^Baltimore  Sun. 

"  Mr.  Yeats  writes  well  ;  in  his  Indian  tales  there  is  distinct  touch  of  cleverness. 
The  story  that  ^nves  its  name  to  the  book  is  Weyman  all  over.  There  is  a  charming, 
if  shrewish,  heroine,  a  misjudged  hero,  a  courtly  villain,  and  the  scene  is  laid  in  the 
France  of  the  Medicis."  — Journal,  Puovidence,  R.I. 

"  The  story  of  Denise  is  interesting  and  at  times  highly  dramatic," 

— St.  Louis  Republic 

"  He  has  romance  and  pretty  turn  for  dramatic  episodes.  .  .  .  '  The  Captain 
Moratti's  Last  Affair'  is  a  delightful  tale  of  Southern  villainy,  and  drama,  and  the 
longest  story  in  the  book,  'The  Heart  of  Denise, '  justifies  its  length  by  its  romantic 
and  thrilling  character.  The  Indian  tales  show  that  while  Mr.  Yeats  is  far  below  Mr. 
Kipling  in  the  treatment  of  the  material  to  be  found  among  the  natives,  he  is  at  any 
rate  clever  and  readable.     His  vignette  of  landscape  are  drawn  with  special  grace." 

— N,  Y.  Tribune. 

LONGMANS.  GREEN,  &  00.,  91-93  riETH  AVENUE,  NEW  TOKK. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


3  1205  02091  8577 

'j'C  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A         001  423 


■:)iy''i'r.:ii 


